


Truth and Consequences

by Leaper



Series: Talented [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Telekinesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 68,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3814198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaper/pseuds/Leaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Karofsky is telekinetic. He accepts that now, and he's returned to his friends, including Kurt. But they've always known that there are competing forces out there fighting to control people with powers — and now that war is coming home with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the third part of what I envisioned as a trilogy, with "Push" and "A Brief Period in the Life of a Telekinetic." It could go on after this, but I'm taking it one step at a time. And I'm actually writing something with an ongoing, coherent narrative, as opposed to a bunch of "snapshot" type scenes strung together! So yay me?

What if...?

Two of the most fascinating words in the English language. Just speaking them or reading them opens all sorts of vistas wondrous and terrible. "What if" is infinite possibility, infinite potential, all squeezed into two words and six letters.

These words can lead you to heaven, hell, or anywhere in between. They can also lead you to places you never, ever imagined even existing, much less going.

For example...

What if you found out that one of your meathead high school tormentors was not only gay like you, but also happened to have frankly freaky telekinetic powers?

What if your overdeveloped sense of decency and compassion led you to help said tormentor, even though you had no idea what you were doing?

What if, along the way, that tormentor, through being forced to be open with you (and honestly, out of gratitude), actually showed himself to be a decent human being when he wasn't being a homophobic parody of what he thought he should have been, and slowly became a friend?

What if he told you he loved you, feelings that were way too complicated to return?

What if the two of you moved to New York City together, even as both of you were unsure how to incorporate psychic powers into the challenges of post-high school life?

What if his powers just kept growing daily, threatening to shatter his tenuous control?

What if the boyfriend of a mutual friend turned out to be an agent for a shadowy organization that knew about people with powers, and offered your telekinetic friend a chance to join them?

What if he took it?

What if he were gone out of your life for five years, with only a false social media presence to constantly remind you of his absence, of the lies you had to tell to cover for him, of your worries over what he could be going through?

What if, slowly but surely, his absence caused you to let go of some of your fears, and actually live your own life?

What if your friend came back?

What would you do then?

* * *

"Target's moved."

"You know where?"

"Yeah, Techie got the intel I needed. I should be able to set myself up to make personal confirmation."

"Good. You know what you have to do if he is what we think he is."

"Of course I do."

"Do you? A target this valuable could get other players involved, maybe even other powered individuals."

"Oh, I _hope_ so."

"Don't get cocky. This could be a game changer. Complications could be fatal to your efforts. You know what your priority has to be."

"I know, I know. All I'm saying is that if anyone else does get involved... They'll regret it."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

Kurt Hummel felt the broad, warm chest press against his, and that was how he knew this was _real_ , _he_ was real, he was _back_ , this wasn't a dream... His fingers clutched around bunched shirt material as if he were hanging for dear life from a cliff. His tears were hot, his lungs heaving, but he couldn't even think of stopping. All that was running through his mind were four words, repeated over and over:

_He's back he's safe he's back he's safe..._

"Dave..." he sobbed, his voice clear despite its being muffled in Dave's shoulder (he had his theatrical training to thank for that). "Dave..."

"What are you crying for, Kurt?" Dave Karofsky's voice was choked and wavering; Kurt didn't have to feel the moisture seeping into his hair to know that his maelstrom of emotions was shared. "I promised you. I promised you I'd come back..."

"Dave... Thank God, Dave..."

"I made a promise and I kept it. I'm back and I'm okay..."

The two held each other for long minutes. While the tears eventually dried and his mind gradually settled down, he could still feel the emotions roiling in his gut, in his heart. But after a while, he was calm enough to finally look his friend in the eye for the first time in five years.

Dave didn't look very different than when he left — maybe a tad thinner. Or maybe some of the softness to him had hardened? Kurt couldn't say. He laughed unsteadily, wiping at his eyes, and said the first thing that popped into his mind. "God, I must look like a mess right now..."

"No, no," Dave said insistently, even as his own reddened eyes and face made _him_ look somewhat of a mess. "You... You look great. As usual."

"Thanks. I just..." He felt the tears welling up again, but he held them back this time. "I'm just so happy you're back..."

"I'm glad to be back. I'm glad Brody and the Agency kept their promise. I'm glad you're okay."

"Look at this place, it's a mess too!" He was starting to babble now, but he couldn't help himself; his adrenaline was still spiking, making him a little dizzy. "You couldn't have told me? You couldn't have warned me that—"

"I wanted to surprise you. Guess it just went a little too well. I didn't realize..." He sniffled. "I didn't realize it'd feel like this..."

"Dave... Oh, my God, Dave..." His voice turned even more high pitched than usual at the last repetition of Dave's name.

"You know... We should do something besides staring at each other, saying each other's name, and crying." Dave's grin was halfhearted and half-formed, but it was there regardless, even if it shook with the effort it took to keep it in place.

"Yes!" Kurt cried. "Yes, we should...! Just a minute! _Don't_ move!" Kurt pulled out his cell phone and went to the kitchen, making sure to keep Dave within his line of sight, as if afraid he'd vanish if Kurt couldn't see him for just a _moment_... He made two phone calls, then returned to the living room, where Dave was sitting on the couch. "Tell me _everything_. Tell me about what you've been doing, tell me about the Agency, tell me about your _life_..."

"Wow, uh... 'Everything' is a lot. I'm not sure where to start, so much has happened..."

"We have all night," Kurt said, "and every day after this if need be. Just start talking, buster." He poked Dave in the chest.

"Hah! I missed you being a bossy bitch."

"Hey!"

Now, the days in which Dave was gone weren't all that bad. In fact, they were good — really good. Despite how much he missed Dave, he had to admit that life was a lot simpler and more relaxing when he only had to worry about himself. It was a realization that led to a lot of guilt-ridden nights, only slightly tempered by the certainty that Dave would have been the first person to want the simpler life for him.

But having Dave back, bantering and joking with him again, released all sorts of rose-tinted nostalgia and — dare he say it? — a feeling of _normalcy_. Somehow, having a telekinetic friend had become "normal" at some point, and his return felt... right. Dave back in his life just felt _right_.

What followed was talking — a _lot_ of talking. But for once, Kurt was hardly doing any of it; he was listening to Dave's stories with rapt fascination and attention. Dave talked about the undisclosed location in which he lived (or as much as he could without breaking all sorts of secrecy rules). He talked about Deborah, his fellow telekinetic, about his training. He talked about his friends, his boyfriend (a part of the story that stirred mildly conflicted and confusing feelings in Kurt), about their separation. And as they ate rapidly cooling delivery Chinese, he talked about his studies, his career aspirations, his hopes for the future.

"... I'm kind of in uncharted territory in the Agency," he said as he slurped up a chow mein noodle, loudly like an uncultured heathen. "I'll be one of the first doing this kind of thing, but I really think it can take off. I think it could change the entire way the Agency approaches new talents. I hope..." He picked a stray grain of fried rice off his lip and ate it. "I hope I can make a difference."

Kurt nodded, sipping at a cup of black tea. "It sounds like you're well on your way. But that's wonderful, Dave. I remember when you had no idea what to do with your life..."

"... And it turns out that having powers was only the way to get there, not the purpose itself." He smiled and shook his head. "Man, life is weird sometimes."

"That it is."

Dave exhaled. "Shit, I feel like I've been talking for fucking hours. I want to hear about _you_ now. What the hell have you been up to?"

"What, you haven't been keeping up with my regular Facebook updates?" Kurt asked in a mock hurt tone.

Dave laughed. "Actually, I have a file in my bag that the field agent I'm working with gave me. It has everything you guys have said and everything Fake Dave said online. But I haven't had time to read it over. I just hauled ass over here as fast as I could."

"Stopping only to play 'angel.'" Kurt tsked. "Dave, what did I tell you about being careful? Didn't your Agency training teach you to fly under the radar?"

"What the hell was I supposed to do, leave them there? Besides, nobody believes her."

"But it was on the _news_ , David. Did it ever occur to you that little things like that could very well be how organizations like the Agency track down talents?"

Dave gaped. "Actually... No. Shit, I didn't even think of that. They were always pretty tight-lipped on how they do that, and..." He suddenly broke out into chuckles. "Fuck! I'm not back for even a day, and you're already my sensei again?"

Kurt blinked, then started laughing himself, almost to the point of hysteric tears. That set Dave off too, and it took a moment for the two to compose themselves. "Yes, well..." he finally managed to gasp out after a minute or two, "old habits are hard to break, aren't they?"

"Especially when you're so used to being the boss." Kurt threw a limp noodle at Dave's face; he easily caught it and popped it into his mouth. "Seriously, though, I get your point. But I didn't have a lot of choices. It was like that question with the hiker you asked me when we were in high school. I just... I had to do _something_ , you know?"

There it was again... Simultaneously one of Dave's best and most worrying traits: the urge, the _need_ , to do good for others. It partly came from the weight of responsibility he felt just being a talent, but Kurt was pretty sure that it also partly came out of guilt, and that wasn't acceptable... Especially when some of that guilt derived from _him_. Not only was it misguided, but Kurt frankly didn't want to be even a sliver of the reason Dave could someday go too far and get himself hurt, or worse. But he also didn't want to throw a wet blanket over a joyful reunion.

He felt sure he'd have time to do it later anyway.

"I'll accept that answer. For now. Moving on... You wanted to know what I've been up to?"

Dave nodded, rapidly and eagerly. "Fuck, yeah."

"Well..." Kurt took a breath, his mental filing system going nuts organizing the chaos of five years of existence. "It's... going okay. It's been a lot of steady progress, which is good enough for now. I graduated from NYADA last year, and I'm actively pursuing the stage. I've got a full time job at Vogue now, so that's another avenue I've been exploring. Fortunately for you, my roommate moved out about two weeks ago, and I haven't found another yet..."

"So Adam wanted to keep his own place?" There was a heavy, smothering silence, and Dave's face immediately fell. "What? Shit, you two aren't still...? But I thought—"

"You know what his lifelong dream is?" Kurt asked, his voice almost a whisper, as if weighed down by the memories. "The reason he came all the way to America for schooling? To be a star on the West End... That's London's premiere theatre district. His intent all the time was to go back to England after he graduated..."

_"But I never imagined I'd ever find anything that'd make me regret it, for even a second. I was wrong."_

Kurt sniffled, but pressed on as best he could. "He asked me to come with him," he said. "Go to England with him. But..."

"God, Kurt... Don't tell me you said no because of—?"

"No!" Kurt put on his best smile; he hoped it looked stronger and more genuine than it felt. "You conceited ass; not _everything_ is about you, you know!" Dave seemed to relax. Success! "I said no because I'd built too much of a life here already. Because my own dream has always been to be a star here in the States. You were about number 19 on the list, at best." Kurt drained the last of his tea; it was cold and a little bitter on his tongue. "We decided not to try a long distance relationship, and that it would be unfair of either of us to give up his dreams for the other." He saw Dave nod slowly and sadly on the other side of the table, and wondered what exactly he was agreeing with. His story about Jesús stirred in the back of his mind, but he continued. "It was hard for both of us. It remained hard for me for a good long while after he left. But... I'm slowly thawing out. In fact, I cancelled a date tonight..." Kurt immediately winced; he had no idea how that particular fact had escaped him, especially when he'd fully intended to keep it hidden.

But he never could hide a lot when it came to Dave, could he?

"Oh, man, Kurt, I'm really sorry..."

"No, don't be. It was only a second date with a guy one of my coworkers introduced me to. I don't think there's much of a spark there anyway. And you're... You're important to me, you know? Don't ever underestimate how important."

"I... Okay."

"Ah, the Agency taught you obedience, did they? I approve."

Once again, their laughter joined, and god, did it feel good.

"So anyway..." Dave said once they'd calmed down, "what about Rachel and Santana and the others? It's probably all in that file of mine, but I'd rather hear it from you."

"Well... Rachel's doing okay. She graduated too, and she's gotten a role off-off-Broadway already." Kurt hesitated; how much did Dave know about this next part? Either way, he'd be curious, so might as well say. "She and Brody broke up not too long ago. She's still working through that; she still doesn't know why or what happened."

He heard Dave inhale sharply through his nose. Kurt wondered if he was having the same kind of conflicting thoughts and feelings he'd had when he heard. "But... you guys are still safe, right? The Agency's still keeping an eye on you guys, right?" His voice was tight with tension.

"Brody and I... talked the night before he left New York." Kurt remembered the conversation clearly; it was every bit as awkward now as it was then. "He couldn't tell me much directly, but he indicated that... Yes, we'd be protected to _some_ extent, but it would be loose. The Agency wouldn't have the time or resources to give us 24 hour surveillance or anything of the sort, but they'd check up on us and keep general tabs on us. But honestly... He indicated that we'd be considered safe as long as nobody knew about..."

"Me." The word was leaden. "I'm still fucking putting you in danger."

"You couldn't help that, Dave," Kurt said sharply. "Nobody could. This was all decided the moment you were born with powers. The alternatives would have been even worse for you, and maybe me, so there's no sense feeling any guilt about it. I'd hoped that these years and your therapy would've made you realize that I'm in this position because I _wanted_ to be, but apparently not. We'll just have to use our new found time together to make sure that lesson gets driven into your thick skull."

Dave smiled softly, almost tenderly. "Still as stubborn as fuck." Before Kurt could take umbrage at this unfair characterization, he continued. "So go on. What about Santana?"

Kurt smiled. "Ah, there's a story. She and Brittany are married now..."

"About fucking time!"

"And they're living in New York. Santana's drifting a little, still trying to figure out her future, but she's got a few odd jobs and been an understudy. Brittany went to MIT for a while..."

"Wait, what? You don't mean the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, do you?"

"I told you, it's a story. Anyway, she didn't graduate, but she's pregnant with their first child as we speak."

"That's great! So you guys all have your own places now?"

"Yep. But I think they should be our next stop. They'll be glad to see you, I'm sure."

"I hope so." Some of the enthusiasm and joy had rushed out of Dave's voice, and Kurt felt this wild impulse to do anything, say anything, to put it back. It was only natural, he supposed, after all this time apart. "It's been so long... They think they've been talking to me all this time, but they really don't know me at all. And I don't know them..."

"Well, whose fault is that, for putting off your required reading? Again?"

"Sorry, Mom." Some of the humor was back, and Kurt was unutterably relieved. And the fact that Dave had brought up his mother, even obliquely... Perhaps that was an effect of finding so much common kinship, having done so much personal growth, become so much more grounded and adept with his power...

All things Kurt could never have given him, but the Agency, apparently, could. He tried not to feel too bitter, but failed. "Anyway," he said, throwing an evil eye in Dave's direction, "I'll help you catch up. When we all meet, follow my lead and try not to look too surprised if they start talking about anything you should know about, but don't."

"God, I missed this." Kurt looked up; Dave was looking at him with a fond smile. "You giving me orders. But hell, it's just one thing I missed a lot. I don't think I've had real Chinese since I went in. It's... kind of almost like a dream, you know? I'm afraid I'm going to wake up any second now, and it'll only be my second day in the base, and I still have five more years to go..."

"If it makes you feel any better, this is reality. As weird and as dangerous as it is, it's reality. You're free now. You're back where you belong. That's all that matters." Something he just said stirred a thought, a wisp of fear, in Kurt, but he couldn't quite grasp what exactly it was yet. But he probably would, soon enough. "Anyway, you want that last potsticker?"

"Nah, you can have it." Kurt deftly reached out with his chopsticks and plucked out his prize. "So when should we see Rachel and San?"

"Maybe tomorrow," Kurt said through a mouthful of pork. "Right now, I want to catch up with you without anyone else getting in my way." He sighed in satisfaction as he pushed himself away from the dining room table. "Why don't you grab a beer and relax while I clean up really quickly..."

Dave stood. "No," he said, the word quiet but possessed of a strength that instantly prickled Kurt's spine. "Let me. I want to show you..."

"Show me... what?" Stupid question, because his heart was already pounding in anticipation.

"A little of what I learned the past few years."

Without a hint of fanfare, the empty paper boxes stacked themselves neatly atop each other. The cheap wooden chopsticks stood on their end, tapping across the table one after another like twin pairs of marching legs, until they jumped and landed inside the topmost box of the stack. The plates and glasses shuffled together; Kurt inhaled through clenched teeth, but they barely tapped against each other as they gently piled themselves up, not a chip to be seen. Crumbs were swept up as if by an invisible broom. Then, as one, all the items on the table rose silently into the air. The garbage can lid flung open, and the boxes plopped within. The dishes levitated into the sink; the faucet turned on and sprayed them with water. All the while, Dave was standing stock still, his eyes silently following the whirl of activity, but without a single bead of sweat or even frown line on his forehead.

"Uh..." Kurt began, "those actually go in the dishwasher." He barely managed to get the words out, he was so busy being fascinated. Sure, none of this was anything he hadn't already known Dave capable of — or hadn't already seen himself, and under much more impressive circumstances — but there was just _something_ about the grace and ease of the movement, of Dave's casual stance and body language... Even in this simple display ("simple"... what was his life that he could call _any_ demonstration of psychic powers "simple"...?), he could _see_ Dave's massive improvement in his control. When compared to how he began this journey — afraid, lashing out in multiple ways — this, now, for all its simplicity, was _incredible_.

Kurt felt an entirely (or perhaps mostly) unwarranted rush of pride — if nothing else, because he'd known Dave was capable of this all along. But he'd dispense with the "I told you so"s. For now.

"Oh. Sorry." The dishwasher creaked open, and the dishes slipped into slots in the lower rack, with the glasses upending themselves and settling into the upper. The door slammed shut, sounding to Kurt's ears like a judge's gavel. Dave turned to him, a half-grin on his lips. "That was really easy. Like, no thought required. It... Kurt, man, the power... I can control it now, and it feels _awesome_. I can do _so_ much, and..." Dave's eyes began to glisten. "You were right. You were right all the time. This... this gift of mine, it's... It's truly a part of me now, and I have you to thank for that."

Kurt shook his head — partly to hold back his own emotion. "I didn't do any of it, Dave. You did, and the Agency."

"No, you taught me it was possible. You held me together until the Agency could find me. You made my life better in ways that had nothing to do with my power, and..." He turned away, but Kurt could see him wipe his eyes on his arm. "You've done so much for me I can never repay..."

When Kurt finally figured out a response, it was delivered with calm and evenness that he didn't really feel (hooray for acting lessons). "Well, I know one way you can start: sit down with me and talk. We have still have a lot to catch up on."

"Anything for you."

Too caught up in his own emotions and excitement, Kurt didn't catch at all how sincere those words were. He'd kick himself for that, but only later.

"Ooh, I love this new obedient you! Now come on: I've got some stories about the other former members of the glee club you won't _believe_. By the time I'm done, you, Mr. Telekinetic, will feel positively _mundane_."

By the time everything was done, a lot of things happened to Kurt and Dave.

They discovered that someone else they knew was a talent.

Someone else found out what Dave could do.

And another may have known for some time.

They got a small sense of the secret war being fought over powers like Dave's.

At least one of them killed.

Both their lives changed irrevocably. Again.

There would be love.

There would be tears.

There would be death.

But that's life, isn't it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos so far! I've kind of come to like this universe, so it's all appreciated!

The two were up until almost 3 in the morning talking, and only adjourned for bed when Dave started to nod off in the middle of a sentence. Kurt caught Dave up on the phoenix-like re-rising of New Directions (resurrected by Rachel herself as part of her final NYADA project), and told him about the disparate lives of his old club mates, and their varying degrees of success. There were also updates on various aspects of pop culture that he'd missed while in the Agency base.

"We'd get first-run movies and DVD box sets and stuff like that, but it wasn't like I could stream Netflix or anything."

"Then you have _no_ idea what happened on _The Amazing Race_ last season?! Oh my God, Dave, lucky for you everything lives forever on the Internet these days..."

Luckily, Kurt had already set up his former roommate's bedroom as a temporary guest room. The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, Kurt (with only half-joking reluctance) finally decided to share Dave with the rest of their friends.

Rachel's response to Dave's voice on the phone was a squeal and a demand (and Rachel Berry could certainly be _demanding_ ) that they _had_ to meet as _soon as humanly possible_.

Santana merely snorted and said, "It took you long enough to slink back here," but she also said, very casually, that she wouldn't mind seeing him again while he was in town.

So they arranged to all meet at Rockefeller Plaza that evening. Dave rocked on his heels nervously as the two waited.

"What's the matter?" Kurt asked. "You've known them for years now..."

"Yeah, and during five of them, they were talking with a fake me," Dave replied. "I just... what if I..." He shook his head. "Sorry, it's stupid..."

Kurt sighed dramatically. "We've been over this before, Dave: nothing you feel is ever 'stupid'. Now spill."

"Okay, fine. What if... I disappoint them? What if I can't measure up to what they think I am?"

"Then they're the ones who're stupid," Kurt said crisply, "and no longer worthy of your time. Come on, now, you've spent the last five years accepting who and what you are. Don't start backsliding on me now; we have better things to do than retread old territory." He turned to his friend. "Look, Dave, I know this is weird. You're returning to a situation and a life that's both familiar and foreign to you all at once. But you can handle it. You've already handled so much, I'm surprised you haven't fully internalized how strong you really are — and I'm not talking about _that_ either. Remember why we're here: they _wanted_ to see you — and we're talking about a self-absorbed diva and a complete and total bitch. As you can guess from that, they're still much the same people you left, and you've only improved as a person. Now calm down, relax, and have a good time. You've more than earned it."

If Dave had a response to that, he never said it, because that was the moment Rachel and Santana appeared. With a delighted cry, the former practically tackled Dave off his feet, hugging him tightly and bouncing up and down. The latter was much cooler about it, but no less affectionate, giving him a quick hug and an only halfway sarcastic air kiss on each cheek.

The quartet ended up having supper at Just Salad to accommodate Rachel; the mood was light enough that Santana only complained for a couple of minutes. As the evening wore on, Kurt started to wonder if he should've delayed the gathering until Dave got a better handle on his supposed European activities; he wasn't sure if Dave could withstand the sort of sustained interrogation these two women were capable of.

Fortunately, they also shared a certain amount of self-absorption, so both were very happy to spend most of time talking about themselves. Santana's main topic of conversation was Brittany and the upcoming baby ("She's sorry she couldn't make it; she's at her expectant mothers' yoga class."), while Rachel went on and on and on about her Broadway ambitions.

"Oh, I got another audition today! This one is for an interesting niche show that's starting up by a promising young playwright..."

"That's code for 'It's a really weird script functioning as public on-stage therapy,'" Kurt muttered to Dave under his breath. The telekinetic suppressed a snicker.

"... And things are moving _so_ fast! I really have to thank you, David."

Dave blinked; was it because he was trying to figure out what she was talking about, or was he startled that he was actually being addressed for the first time in the past ten minutes? "For what?"

"For your advice! You were right all along; pursuing that TV show would've been a _huge_ mistake. The stage is where I belong, and grabbing for a chance at easy stardom would've been a betrayal of everything I've worked for my entire life! I'm a New Yorker and a Broadway star, heart and soul, and that's just the way it is."

Kurt shuddered at the memories. By far the most difficult part of Dave's absence — even more so than the lies and the worries — was seeing Dave's social media accounts interact with his friends _knowing_ that the person on the other side of the keyboard was some Agency operative, a stranger. Sure, everything that was written _sounded_ like something Dave would say, but him (or her, maybe?) being that informed just made it worse. Just imagining (or worse, knowing) what "Fake Dave," as the real Dave called him/her, was saying to others that Kurt wasn't privy to kept him up more than a few nights. Luckily, it generally seemed to work out; if it hadn't, Kurt wasn't sure who he would've hunted down first. It wasn't that he didn't understand the necessity of it, and the logic. It was still creepy as all hell.

Dave grimaced; Kurt could guess he was thinking much the same. "Well, uh... It was no problem. I'm glad it's working out for you."

"And the same with you! I think social work is a very noble profession, and one that suits you well. I could tell from your enthusiasm for the Bully Whips." This time, Kurt was the one who was hiding a grimace behind his napkin. It seemed that the Agency was updating Dave's cover story right up to the end, based on what he was doing on the inside. He dearly hoped that they'd asked him directly what was going on, instead of checking up on him without his knowledge. "So, you _must_ tell me more about your life in Europe! It must've been so fascinating, being around all that culture and history...!"

Dave began to sweat. "Yeah, well... You kind of get used to it after a while, you know?"

"I suppose, but it would take me quite a while to become jaded, I can tell you that!"

"So what'd you think of Spain?" Santana asked. "You never did look up my friend Rosa."

"I know, sorry about that. I was really busy." Kurt couldn't help but admire Dave's vague evasions. But then, he knew better than anyone else how much practice he must've had.

"Yeah, sure," Santana drawled sarcastically as she sipped the last of her soda. "Five fucking years in Europe, and you were always 'too busy,' and now just you show up out of the blue without even telling us! If I didn't know better, I'd think this little reunion was because you'd finally run out of money."

Rachel gave a little gasp. "Oh! Speaking of reunions...!" Kurt gasped himself; how could he have forgotten about _that_? Then again, with all the emotions accompanying the surprise of Dave's return, perhaps he shouldn't kick himself too much. "David, you _are_ coming, aren't you?"

"To—?"

Fortunately, Rachel rambled on before Dave could dig his hole any deeper. "I know you declined before, but now that you're back in the States, you really have no reason not to attend!"

"She's right, Dave," Kurt said, his mind racing to keep ahead of his mouth to figure out how to phrase his next words carefully. "We all know how much you wanted to attend the New Directions reunion. Now that your schedule's settled down and you were able to come back home after all, we'd all love to have you there. Rachel's only invited every single person who was a member of the glee club while she was there, after all."

Rachel nodded rapidly, but Santana gave him an odd look — that meant that his subtle imparting of information wasn't quite as subtle as he'd hoped. But then, Santana was more canny than most. Still, he'd have to watch what he (and Dave) said in front of her. Not that she'd ever be able to even conceive of the truth, but a suspicious Santana was a dangerous Santana. Then again, even a totally UN-suspicious Santana was pretty damn dangerous.

"Oh, I, uh..." Kurt groaned inwardly; he'd hoped the Agency would have taught Dave a little more about thinking quickly on his feet. Maybe that was a future course. "If it's not too much trouble... I mean, you did a lot of planning already, and if one more person's gonna screw it up..."

"Nonsense!" Rachel snapped, to Kurt's silent agreement. "I'm sure that given the choice, everyone would want to see you there!"

"Speaking of which," Kurt interrupted, mostly to give himself and Dave a moment to think and calm down, "gotten your last RSVPs yet?"

"I have! Fortunately, there are only a few regrets: Quinn has a conference in Vancouver, Puck couldn't get leave from the Air Force, Rory isn't able to leave Ireland at this time, and Mercedes, as you know, is still on her tour." Indeed, Kurt did know; he regretted missing the chance to see her in person for the first time in almost a year, but at least there was still the Internet, which was already buzzing about her talent, as he knew it would. "But everybody else is going to attend for at least some of the festivities. Oh, David, wait until you see the new and improved McKinley High School for the Performing Arts!" Dave's face didn't so much as twitch — mostly because Kurt had, of course, mentioned that in his rundown of what had gone on in his absence. "The athlete/artist divide is now totally gone — I thought you in particular would appreciate that — and if it doesn't produce multiple stars in the next ten years, I'll eat every hat at Macy's!"

"Well, then..." Dave rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd love to come." Kurt was glad, mostly because he wouldn't have to go to the effort of employing every trick in his substantial book to _make_ Dave go. Reconnecting with his old friends from before his life at the Agency could only be good for him. "When was it again? I forget."

"Two weekends from now," Rachel said chirpily, "so your timing is especially fortuitous! If you want, I have a friend at a travel agency who can still get you cheap plane tickets..."

"Nah, that's okay; I think I want to drive anyway."

The mention of driving brought up a sudden burst of unnameable feeling in Kurt — perhaps the closest he could come to a name was "excitement". "Ohmygod, that _was_ your Plymouth out front, wasn't it?" came out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Rachel and Santana frowned in puzzlement, but Dave chuckled. "Yeah, it is. I told you, first thing I wanted to buy when I got money."

"Oh, holy shit," Kurt breathed, "you _have_ to let me take a closer look. You _must_. Please, if our friendship has _ever_ meant _anything_ to you..."

"If Kurt is _this_ excited, this has gotta be some car," Santana said dryly. "I wanna see it too."

And that was how all four young people ended up outside Kurt's apartment building in Queens, joining the small clot of passersby already there, watching as Kurt ran his hands almost worshipfully across the hood of Dave's 1959 Plymouth Fury.

Santana whistled in admiration. "Man, Dave, when you said your Grandpa Murray had money, I didn't think you meant _this_ kind of money..."

Once again, Kurt bitterly admired the thoroughness of the Agency's cover story. It helped that there _was_ actually quite a bit of wealth on Dave's mother's side of the family, and that Grandpa Murray _had_ left a trust fund for his grandson for college, but it was still a balancing act, what with the risk of someone with actual knowledge reading Fake Dave's social media. But it was a balancing act that the Agency operative, whoever he or she was, performed quite well.

Disturbingly well, in fact.

Dave shrugged humbly. "This is, like, my one big splurge."

"And spending five years backpacking across fucking Europe wasn't?"

Dave ignored her. "It was something I'd always wanted, and had the chance, so..." He shrugged again. "And I got a good deal, so it was cool."

"Well, you're certainly moving up in the world," Rachel said. "We all are, and it's always heartwarming to see friends achieve even their little dreams."

"So, Kurt..." Dave had a mischievous grin on his face. "Wanna ride with me to Lima? Road trip, just like old times?"

Kurt stood ramrod straight. "Do I?! Can I take a leg of the drive? _Pleaaase_?"

"What, no invitation for me? Fine, I see how it is," Santana pouted. "Nothing fucking changes," she added under her breath.

"Oh, drop it, Santana," Rachel said with a roll of her eyes. "We all know you'd rather accompany Brittany on the plane 'just in case'."

"Okay, fine, yeah, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to be at least _invited_."

"Quiet, both of you," Kurt said in a breathy tone, admiring his reflection in the polished chrome. "I'm busy hyperventilating here. I'm glad to see you have a manual transmission. Is the engine a Golden Commando or—?"

"Oh, God, don't ask me questions about the car. I just fucking drive it."

"And that, my friend, is why you'll never be able to appreciate it the way you should."

"While you'd wax it every day and sing it to sleep at night, right?"

"A '59 Fury? You're damn right I would!"

Rachel laughed. "I missed this," she said. Then she touched Dave's shoulder. "I missed you, David."

Dave looked like he could barely nod; Kurt could see his Adam's apple bob. "... Yeah. I missed you too, Rachel. I thought of you — all of you — a lot while I was away."

"We thought of you too," Kurt said, finally breaking off his admiration of the car. "But you're back now. That's all that matters." There it was again, though — that wisp of fear. But this time, he knew exactly where it was coming from. It was something he'd have to ask Dave later.

For now, though, it was time for partings. Rachel and Santana both hugged Dave tightly, promising more meet-ups later. Finally alone, the two young men wearily made their way up to Kurt's apartment. "So..." Dave said from the couch as Kurt shut the door behind him, "what should we do until the weekend of the reunion?"

Kurt tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to kick back and relax some. We'll get together with Rachel and Santana, go out on the town... But I can think of one thing you definitely need to do."

"What's that?"

In response, Kurt strode into the hall; he could feel Dave's eyes watching him in confusion. He was in and out of the guest bedroom in seconds, and unceremoniously dropped Dave's backpack into his lap. "Study."

"Huh? Study what?"

"Your file, of course. You think you're going to survive the reunion if you don't have every detail of your cover story down? That's what the file is _for_ , David. You're lucky you have the time to read over what Fake You has done before you actually have to start answering questions. I'll quiz you in a couple of days. I suggest making flash cards..."

"Oh, God," Dave groaned.

"I'm surprised, David. I would've thought that five years being trained by a secret organization in a covert base would've improved your work ethic. Looks like I'll have to get you up early tomorrow—" A dish towel dropped right on top of Kurt's head, over his eyes, out of nowhere. "Very funny, Dave."

"Yeah, I thought so."

* * *

The next week passed quickly — surprisingly quickly. It was almost a blur of activity: talking, sightseeing, eating out at decidedly non-cafeteria restaurants, and yes, even studying, not that Dave showed an ounce of gratitude for Kurt's motivational practices. He even had the _nerve_ to compare him to Coach Sylvester, the bastard!

The pair set out on Wednesday morning, the sky bright and clear and blue, even through the pollution of the big city. Kurt eagerly climbed into the Fury the moment Dave unlocked the door, and purred along with the engine as it roared to life.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, that horsepower..."

"Shit, Kurt, you sound like you're having an orgasm over there."

"More of one than I've had in a long while, I can tell you that." He closed his eyes, listening to the rumble of the pavement underneath them, as Dave pulled out onto the street. "You feel that, Dave? Smooth as silk. Whoever was maintaining this thing before you had it knew what they were doing."

"You need some time alone?" Dave snickered.

"Philistine. Don't like fashion, don't like cars..."

"Yeah, well, what do you know about the NHL or _Halo_?"

"If I cared, I'd know a lot," Kurt replied snootily.

"That does it, no driving for you, mister! You'll just sit back, be a passenger, and _enjoy_ it!"

"Why, I never! How cruel of you, you... you _bully_!"

With the windows rolled down, at least a few pedestrians turned to stare at their laughter as they drove by.

Kurt did enjoy the ride, at least for the first couple of hours. Once they got out of the city proper, along the route they took when they first came to New York City, nostalgia overtook him. "We stopped for gas there, remember?"

"Uh, yeah, but that's kind of a weird thing to point out, isn't it?"

"It was a significant time in our lives, Dave. I remember every inch of that trip, and I treasure it all."

"Even what I did at the forest?" His voice was grim and soft.

"Even that. Because it's a reminder of how far you'd come from where you began — and how much further you've come now. It seems to me you're finally Dave Karofsky — the real Dave Karofsky — accepting all the parts that make up the whole you. You've grown into your power, you got yourself a boyfriend, you found a calling that you're passionate about... I think you've done pretty damn good these past five years, and the future's still wide open to you. I couldn't be prouder, Dave, I mean that."

He was silent for about half a mile before he said anything more. "That means a lot, coming from you. Thanks." He chuckled. "I suppose for that, I can let you drive just a _little_ , seeing as how you sacrificed so much for me and all..."

Kurt perked. "Really? Oh, God, _thank you_..."

"Just don't get jizz all over the seat, okay?"

"How crude! I can tell the Agency didn't give you any sensitivity training! And you're trying to be a counselor!"

"Hey, what can I say, telekinesis isn't my _only_ gift."

"Okay, that was mildly witty. But only mildly. I'll forgive you if you pull over at the next exit so I can get behind the wheel."

He did, and oh Lord, was this car _everything_ he'd ever imagined. Kurt could almost picture himself living in the Fifties, in this car, one of an army of bright gleaming American classics. (Fortunately, he didn't have to worry about the stifling social order in his fantasies.) Dave teased him off and on through his turn as driver, with such Wilde-like witticisms as "You know there's nowhere on this car for you to stick your dick in, right?" and "If you pay for gas, does that make the car a prostitute?" But hell, Kurt could take a little ribbing if it meant he could wheedle another few miles out of Dave.

They were about half an hour away from the Pennsylvania-Ohio border when Kurt felt relaxed enough to ask the question that had been buzzing in the back of his mind ever since Dave came back. "Dave...?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you back for good now?"

There was silence from the other side of the car; Kurt could feel his gut thud somewhere amongst his large intestine, but he waited for an answer nonetheless. It took a few seconds, but he got one. "Kind of. I'll need to train and study some more with the Agency, but I'll have a lot more freedom now; they like their field agents to be comfortable in the outside world and all that. I mean, in a way, I'll never be fully free as long as I'm a member of the Agency, but the way I see it, it's kinda the same as if I were in the Army or the FBI or something. It's... I think this is kinda my calling, y'know?"

Kurt nodded, keeping his eyes on the seemingly endless blacktop ahead. It was a better answer than he was expecting, but conflicting emotions were still roiling within him. "I know the feeling. It's the same with me and the stage."

"Yeah. I won't even have to go back to the base a lot, though; I'll be able to do a lot of my academic studies independently. It's mostly the telekinetic shit I need to go back in for."

"You think there's more for you to learn?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely. One of the big things I learned training with my powers is just how much I have left to learn. I feel like what I can do is almost _limitless_ , and I'll feel like a disappointment if I don't at least try to grab it all while I can..."

"The only thing I'm disappointed by is your even considering that you could be one. I could lecture you some more about it, but you've heard it all already. Just don't forget where you've been, and that you're allowed to think about yourself every once in a while. Dave Karofsky is just as important as the kids you want to help. You have to take care of him if you want to take care of them. Remember that."

"Yeah. Sure. Okay." Kurt raised a skeptical eyebrow, but accepted the words at face value. "I just... I feel like my life has a _purpose_ now, you know? A direction. Yeah, sure, maybe I have to watch myself even more than I used to when I was in the closet, but it's for a good reason now. I feel like my entire _life_ has opened up. There's so much I want to do, and now I know I _can_ , you know? My power, my studies, my job... It's all finally coming together, and it's almost a little crazy, just how much of a difference it makes. I tell you, Kurt, I've never felt so free — and that's not just 'cause I'm not cooped up in that base anymore either."

Kurt had noticed, to be frank. It was odd, how familiar yet different Dave was. All the essential parts of him, everything that made him _Dave_ , was still there, but more... vibrant. More open. More mature. More stable. Gone — or at least severely reduced — were the fear and the self-hate that were constant undercurrents of his existence. By embracing his gift, his sexuality, and yes, even his guilt to some extent, he'd freed himself from all that, opened himself up to life's possibilities. Kurt hoped he'd done the same for his own life, but either way, it warmed his heart to see his friend, once so hemmed in by his own psyche, now allowing himself to be who and what he truly was — _finally_ seeing what Kurt had known almost from the start.

The road ahead of them stretched on.

So did the road behind them, and on that road a particular car that had been following them ever since New York City.

Not that either noticed.

* * *

"You don't have to be here for this, you know."

"First of all, I sort of do, seeing as how your car is my main mode of transportation while we're here. Second, I want to be a supportive friend, because I know this will be an emotional moment for you. Third, I have to admit, this is something I want to see myself."

The mood had become sharply heavier once the "Welcome to Lima" sign became visible. It was as though the memories were exerting pressure on them both, as inexorable as telekinesis — the good and the bad, the hope and the fear, it all wove a tapestry that would fall apart if a single thread, even the most unpleasant, were yanked out. Kurt thought that the way he felt returning to Lima must have been much the same that Dave felt returning to the outside world from the Agency base. Everything was familiar and foreign all at once, as if he'd only seen these streets in a movie, not walked them himself.

What Kurt couldn't imagine, though, was what Dave was thinking and feeling as they pulled up in front of the Karofsky house. He had no idea what the Agency had done to Paul Karofsky's mind, what groundwork — if any — they'd laid with him for Dave's return, but they were about to find out. That fact explained Dave's white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, not to mention Kurt's presence.

"Whatever happens, whatever you're feeling... You'll deal with it better if you're not alone," Kurt continued. "This is yet another old lesson, but it still holds as true now as it did then: you need to accept help, Dave. How can you offer it if you can't take it? I want to be here for you. Now do you believe that or not?"

Dave barely hesitated in his replying nod. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks." He sucked in a breath. "Well, can't just sit out here forever, as much as I want to. If Mrs. Mendelbaum still lives next door, she'll see us and call the cops. So we might as well go in." His light tone clashed with the clenching of his jaw, the narrowness of his eyes.

Kurt laid a gentle hand on Dave's shoulder. "Come on. Your dad's waiting for you."

Dave took the steps up to the porch so rapidly that Kurt had to jog to keep up. But he needn't have bothered, because Dave froze the instant he was standing in front of the front door. Standing by his side, Kurt gently raised Dave's right arm until it was at the level of the doorbell. Swallowing audibly, Dave pushed.

Soft chimes emanated from inside. Muffled footsteps followed, and Dave's arm tensed under Kurt's touch. "He's your father, Dave," he muttered. "It'll be okay."

"Yeah. Right. You're right. It'll be fine." Kurt wasn't sure who Dave was trying to convince.

A lock snapped; the door hinges creaked a little as it opened. Paul Karofsky was five years older, five years greyer, but otherwise looked much the same as Kurt remembered. He hadn't interacted much with the man during Dave's absence, for obvious reasons; their last chat was right before the Agency did... whatever they did to him, which was not long after Dave left. He heard Dave's sharp intake of breath.

"David..." Paul Karofsky sounded almost in awe at what he was seeing. "David, you're...!"

"Hey, Dad," Dave said in a choked voice. "Surprise?"

"David!" Kurt was lightly shoved aside in Paul's lunge towards his son, but he didn't mind. He smiled, hands in his pockets, as the two large men clung to each other tightly, babbled words interspersed with soft sobs.

The two hugged each other for long enough that Kurt's attention started to wander, his hand brushing against the bulge in his pants formed by his smartphone, his eyes taking in the street (who told that jogger she could wear florescent colors?). But before he gave in to his impatience, the two parted, and a rheumy-eyed Paul Karofsky clapped the shoulders of both young men. "Why don't you two come in?"

The trio gathered in the kitchen over cold drinks. "You should've told me you were coming home," Paul scolded lightly. "Why didn't you call first?" His brow furrowed. "But you did tell me you were returning from Europe... Didn't you?" His eyes went cloudy and unfocused, and Kurt shivered. He knew pretty much what was going on in Paul Karofsky's mind, even if the man himself couldn't even comprehend it. He could almost imagine implanted mental commands shifting memories around, creating false images and feelings out of thin air. It was horrible and fascinating simultaneously. He glanced at Dave; his friend's face was pale. "Ah, well, that's not important." _Only because someone_ told _you not to consider it important_ , Kurt thought, his stomach churning. "What's important is that you're finally home. If you're not sleeping in your old room while you're here for the reunion, you're out of my will."

Dave chuckled, sounding somewhat forced. "Okay, you've twisted my arm. Kurt, why don't I drop you off at your house so Dad and I can catch up?"

"Well," Kurt said with exaggerated innocence, "you could always give me the keys and I'll take your car home. I promise to take good care of it."

Before Dave could riposte, Paul frowned. "Car? You got a car already?"

Kurt and Dave exchanged looks. "Uh, yeah. You want to see it?"

There they were again: those cloudy and unfocused eyes. "No, not if you don't want to," Paul said casually. "Go ahead and take Kurt home. I'll order us some supper while you're out."

"Sure..." Only when the front door shut behind them did Dave speak again. "That was... God, Kurt, I knew, but _seeing_ it for myself..."

"I know."

"Was it... was it really necessary to do that to him?"

Kurt knew what he could say, what he should say, but what he did say was, "I don't know."

Those words hung heavily over them the entire trip to the Hummel-Hudson home.

* * *

Few places in Lima were more emblematic of Dave's and Kurt's journey than McKinley High School. Like its two alumni, it had evolved while keeping its basic elements much the same. Its name had changed (albeit with only the appendage of four words), but the campus, the facade, was largely untouched, and just being in its presence made Kurt feel like he was a teenager again — discomfiting, to be sure. Standing by Dave, who was staring up at its buildings as though it was some kind of Lovecraftian city just risen from the depths, he got the sense that the feeling was shared.

"Wow. It's only been six years, but... It feels like a lifetime ago," Dave said.

"It was. Six years is a quarter of our lives thus far. Neither of us is the same as when we graduated."

"Yeah. It's just... It's weird to think about everything that happened to us in there. How much both our lives changed."

"And for the better, I believe," Kurt said firmly; he'd had enough experience with Dave to instinctively know where _that_ line of thought was in peril of being headed. "Now come on, everyone's waiting for us."

It was early evening, and the first of many events Rachel had concocted for the glee club reunion was a "welcome back" mixer. Strange, Kurt thought as he and Dave stepped into the building, to think that New Directions was indirectly responsible for making this school what it was today. To think that he, Kurt Hummel, was part of the foundation for an entire performing arts curriculum... Apart from Dave, this could very well be one of his more lasting legacies... and he couldn't think of a better one.

"Man..." Dave's voice echoed in the half-lit halls. "This brings back memories."

"Good or bad?"

"Both, I guess. Like, this is where I blew out those lights after that asshole started insulting you."

"Right, right. And that's where I first saw you in that Bully Whips uniform."

"I put that under the 'bad memory' column," Dave chuckled. "And that's..." He didn't finish.

"That's...?" Kurt paused and looked. "Ah."

It was the boys' locker room.

"That's where it all began," Dave said softly. "Where I... I kissed you..."

"And I found out about your power."

Dave nodded. "That day changed everything for you... for both of us."

"No regrets, I hope?" There was an edge to Kurt's voice that was entirely intentional.

There was no answer, not at first. The two continued down the hall. "No. I wish I could have gotten through all this without getting you involved, but... Well, you know what you... your friendship and your help has always meant to me. What I think it's done for me."

"Indeed I do, and I was glad to be able to help you. Seeing you now only proves to me that I made the right choice."

Dave ducked his head for a moment; Kurt couldn't see his face well enough in the shadows to tell what sort of expression he wore. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." The two walked on in companionable silence. "The auditorium's right up ahead."

"Yeah."

"You know, I've always thought that I... that _we_ know someone who'd be much more deserving of having their name on the auditorium than April Rhodes."

"You read my mind."

Kurt was about to make a snappy joke about telepathy when Dave stopped stone cold dead. He turned to see why, and stopped stone cold dead himself.

Sue Sylvester was leaning almost casually against the wall next to the closed auditorium doors, through which only a thin line of light and the barest murmur of conversation leaked out. She was wearing a black pantsuit, looking much as she had on their graduation day. She regarded them with an upraised eyebrow, her face as unreadable as ever.

"Porcelain. Kong."

Kurt swallowed. "Coach," he said, even though he knew she wasn't their coach (and maybe not even A coach; the rumors he'd heard from his peers were sketchy, to say the least). He could hear Dave breathing next to him. Memories stirred within him, of this woman's... involvement in getting Dave returned from his kidnapping by Brody Weston, and he wondered, not for the first time, just what the hell she _knew_. Not that he expected any answers, tonight or ever — at least not full and satisfactory ones. "I didn't know you were invited to this reunion."

"I wasn't." _Of course not_. "I invited myself."

"Why?"

"Schuester and Berry asked me the same question. I told them that I technically ran your carnival freak show of a group for a while, and a lot better than either of them ever did, so I have every right to be here."

"Yes, but _why_?"

Sylvester shrugged. "I was bored. I was thinking of continuing my political career, but I decided this country wasn't ready yet for my particular brand of wisdom. Then I heard about this reunion and decided that it would be... interesting." Her eyes bored directly into Dave; it was only then that Kurt remembered that he'd never told him about Sue Sylvester's part in what happened to him. Maybe out of fear that she'd appear if he spoke her name, like Beetlejuice?

Dave's brow furrowed. "Why?" he asked in a bewildered tone.

Sylvester snorted. "'Why why why'. You two sound like a couple of five year olds." Her lip curled. "Then again, five year olds have better survival instincts."

"That doesn't answer our question," Kurt noted in a remarkably even voice.

"I know." Nobody moved.

"So..." Dave began, "we're just gonna go in and see everyone now..." He took a step forward, and Sylvester's eyes found him again. He immediately froze once more.

"You look well, Fozzie," she said to Dave. "You were living in Europe, right?"

"Y-yeah..."

"Learned a lot, did you?"

"Y-yes, I think I did..."

"Hm. I'm a little surprised you're actually here. Where you go, sometimes people just... stay." Kurt heard Dave give a soft, strangled gasp. "Maybe you've decided to get a job? Find other kids who are _talented_ and ask them if they want to go to... Europe?"

"W-what...? What are you—?"

"Excuse me," Kurt interrupted. "We'd love to catch up with you, Coach, but we're expected. So if you don't mind...?"

To his surprise, Coach Sylvester actually pushed herself off the wall and stepped aside. "Oh, no, not at all. But I have a feeling we'll be talking again. Soon. Enjoy the party." She watched, arms crossed, as Kurt and Dave nervously shuffled by her.

Dave's whisper was a hiss in Kurt's ear. "She... Does she...?" He cast a questioning glare at Kurt. "You don't seem surprised by any of this. What the hell...?"

"We'll talk about this later," Kurt muttered back as he threw open the auditorium doors. The warmth, light, and laughter within was welcome respite.

* * *

Within moments, Kurt was in the middle of a maelstrom of gasps and smiles and hugging arms. Some of them he'd talked to relatively recently, while quite a few hadn't crossed his path in years. Once again, memories flooded through him, but this time, mostly good.

Dave too was greeted warmly; he was slapping backs and shaking hands left and right. He especially lit up on seeing Brittany's five month belly. "Congratulations!" he exclaimed.

"Thank you," she said, snaking an arm around Santana's waist. "It's been exhausting, but a good exhausting, you know? Especially preparing Lord Tubbington II for having a new sibling. So how're you, Dave?"

"Yeah," Lauren Zizes cut in, swaggering her way into the conversation, "I hear you've been bumming around Europe for the past few years. So what were you doing all that time?"

"Oh, y'know... What teenagers usually do," Dave said with a shrug. Fortunately for him, he'd been a prodigious enough student, actually passing Kurt's pop quizzes after the first few attempts.

"What was this school you were going to again?"

"Fontaine Academy. It's a small private school not far outside London. I just... liked it so much that I decided to finish college there." He gave his gathered former classmates a grin. "And being able to backpack through the continent during the summers was pretty cool too."

"Yeah, that does sound pretty cool," Tina chimed in. "So what was your favorite part of the Louvre? I was _so_ jealous when I saw that you were visiting there. Was the medieval gallery as beautiful as I've heard? Do you have any more pictures?"

Dave nearly spit up his beer mid-drink. "Oh! I, uh..."

 _Goddammit_. Kurt sighed inwardly, even as he admitted to himself that he'd sort of missed having to save the day every once in a while. "Shame on you, Dave, for forgetting to bring that flash drive full of photos!"

"Y-yeah, sorry about that. I just didn't think about it," he said sheepishly, taking the lead more quickly than Kurt expected. Maybe he was getting better at this whole thinking on his feet thing. "What was the name of that one sculpture I liked again...?"

" _Winged Victory of Samothrace_ ," Kurt answered, having poked into the Louvre collections already when Fake Dave's Facebook account first mentioned the fictional trip. "When you finally learned that Nike isn't just a shoe company."

The assemblage chuckled along with Dave. Kurt didn't miss the grateful look he shot at him. Just like old times.

He just wished he could shake this odd feeling... like something wasn't quite right. He looked about the room; there were several groups of people chatting and drinking, nobody out of place (except perhaps the woman they'd met outside in the hall)... There was no _apparent_ reason for concern. Perhaps his instincts were just toying with him this time?

But he only thought that because he didn't know about the stranger lurking outside in the parking lot, staring up at the lights streaming from the auditorium, stroking its chin in thought.

* * *

It was inevitable that Rachel would take the mike sometime in the evening, and she didn't disappoint. "Everyone!" she said, speaking over the murmurs of conversation. "Everyone!" she repeated, waiting until enough faces were turned towards her. "I wanted to thank you all for coming to this soiree. I guarantee you all that this weekend will be one none of us will ever forget!" She paused for applause, but there was none. To her credit, her pout only lasted a brief second before she continued. "I'm looking forward to catching up with each and every one of you, and sharing our memories of our brief time together, especially of those who couldn't be with us." Her mouth twitched; Kurt had no doubt who she was thinking of at that moment, because he was thinking of the same man. "Since we are a musically inclined group of people, we will of course have plenty of music in the next few days, but I thought I would start off our reunion right with a song."

There were low groans amongst them, but if she heard them, she ignored them. Kurt, for his part, had expected something like this, given her recent obsession with getting cast in the new revival of the _Mary Poppins_ musical, and thus had already prepared himself. So when Rachel launched into a beautiful but overly emoted and overly accented rendition of "Feed the Birds," he turned straight towards Dave, his mouth open to ask how much longer he wanted to stay. But the space that Dave had occupied just seconds before was now empty.

Kurt huffed, looking about the auditorium. Passing over face after face, he finally found the man he was looking for, in one of the back corners — not without difficulty, for he was half cloaked in shadow. He was deep in conversation with one of the other attendees.

By all rights, Kurt should have taken this as normal. He should've sat down and listened to the rest of Rachel's song and thought nothing of this minor scene. Maybe things would've turned out differently afterward. Maybe not.

But there was _something_ about what he saw that roused his curiosity, and he could never express, not even to himself, what it was that he noticed. Was it an expression? An atmosphere? Or just his instincts again, actually kicking in? Whatever the cause, Kurt found himself inching closer and closer to the two, and when they slipped out of the auditorium together, he followed. Again, he couldn't say exactly why he was doing something so uncharacteristic as invading the privacy of two people he considered friends. But when it was all over, he couldn't say that he regretted it all that much. There were too many ways it could've all gone to hell had he not known.

The two finally stopped around the corner from the inner auditorium entrance, parking themselves in front of a set of lockers that Kurt thought might've housed his own during his junior year. "Okay, so what's up?"

The other figure shuffled nervously. "I need to ask you a question, Dave. It's going to sound really weird, but..."

By now, the tension was so obvious that it couldn't escape Dave's notice. "What kind of question?"

Kurt wasn't sure what the question would be. Maybe he halfway expected something like what was actually asked — just out of a cynical expectation of the "worst." Whatever he was or wasn't expecting, he was certain that Dave was caught completely flatfooted.

"Do you... Do you have, um... powers?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Do I... What?!" This time, Kurt couldn't blame Dave for being caught out, for his jaw dropping practically to his chest, for his sudden sweating and stammering. He himself had to slap a palm against the wall to keep from literally falling over. "What... what the hell are you talking about?"

"I mean," the other replied calmly, "can you do anything that you read about in comic books? Super strength, fly, telepathy, any of that?"

"I..." Dave gulped, so hard that Kurt could hear it from his vantage point. "Why the hell are you asking me?! That's... that's crazy! There's no such thing as powers...!"

Kurt heaved a silent sigh. It was fortunate that he was leaning towards frank revelation anyway, because that kind of lying would have gotten them absolutely nowhere. _Dave really needs to train his poker face before he starts going out in the field..._ Then again, who could've expected this kind of twist? He certainly didn't.

Whatever Kurt ever thought of his former New Directions compatriot, "stupid" was not one of the words he ever attached. "Okay... It sounds like you can." The ex-glee clubber exhaled. "Thank God... I'm not crazy..."

Dave boggled. "What?!" he repeated.

By now, Kurt had recovered, and decided that he needed to step in. He strode around the corner briskly, his boot clacks echoing in the empty hallway. Both of the other people in that hall looked up sharply.

"Oh, hi, Kurt. Uh... Dave and I kind of need some privacy here..."

"No, it's okay," Kurt said, casting a significant look at Dave. "I think we all need to talk."

Dave exhaled in sheer relief. "Oh, thank fucking God..."

There was a frown of confusion, along with several questioning looks at them both, then a shrug. "I guess things can't get any weirder." Matt Rutherford turned to Kurt. "So where should we talk?"

* * *

They chose a nearby classroom that happened to be unlocked. Its walls were decorated with posters of various stage sets, including that of _The Lion King_. Each chose a chair, sitting in a circle, their knees almost touching.

For Kurt knew that they were about to talk about things that could only be described as... intimate.

Matt could have changed a lot since they were in high school together; it wasn't like he and Dave hadn't. For all he knew, Matt could be a member of one of those other shadowy organizations. But somehow... Kurt didn't think so. Matt had always struck him as low key, trustworthy, honest — someone who wore his heart on his sleeve, someone for whom such deception wouldn't even occur to him. Perhaps he was gambling here, trusting that leopards couldn't change their spots so drastically in just six years.

But if he was right, this could very well be a risk worth taking.

"So..." Matt began, shifting uncomfortably in his cold plastic chair. "You... know about Dave...?" The named young man still looked gobsmacked. Not that Kurt could blame him.

"I think we should start at the beginning," Kurt said. "And I'd like you to start, if you don't mind."

Matt hesitated, once more looking back and forth between Dave and Kurt. Kurt could almost hear the questions running through Matt's mind: _Can I trust them? Have I gone too far already? What's going to happen to me once I tell the truth?_

Finally, he spoke. "You were the first one," he said to Dave. "You were the only one, for a long time. That's why I thought there was something wrong with me. My brain, my vision, I don't know."

"What?" Dave's voice was saturated with puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

"You... glowed." Both other young men blinked. "You still glow. I'm looking at you right now, and... God, it's actually kind of beautiful..."

Dave looked down at himself. "Kurt... I'm not...?"

"Not that I can see."

"Don't bother. I learned long ago that no one else can see it. That's why I never mentioned it, to you or anyone else. Then my family moved to California, and no one there ever glowed, so I thought it was over." Matt took a deep breath. "Until I moved to Colorado. I was on the bus in Denver about a month ago when... I saw someone else."

"Someone who glowed?" Dave asked.

"Yeah. This was a stranger thousands of miles away from Lima, so I knew something was up. I followed her, and I saw her... do things." His breath hitched. "Things I thought were impossible. I had to actually literally pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming it." Matt shook his head. "Ever since then, I've tried to explain what I saw a hundred different ways, and none of it held up. Then I remembered the reunion, and that you joined New Directions after I left." He nodded towards Dave. "I thought if I asked, I could find out what was going on once and for all. Maybe it wasn't smart, but I was desperate. I was afraid I was going nuts. I had to know, one way or the other, no matter what I found out or what happened to me, or I really _would_ go nuts." Kurt nodded; he could _definitely_ understand that feeling. "So you can explain, right? What this means? What... what's going on? Is there something wrong with me?"

Once more, Kurt and Dave exchanged looks. The former nodded towards the latter, and the latter spoke. "No, there's nothing wrong with you. Unless there's something wrong with me."

"So you...?"

"Yeah. I have powers." He waved a hand, and several chairs rose into the air. Matt watched with wide eyes and open mouth. "I'm a telekinetic." The chairs gently returned to the floor. "I'm what some people call a 'talent'. And it sounds like... you're one too."

"Me?" There was a lot in that one little word — shock, mainly.

"Yes," Kurt said. "If I had to guess, you can see other talents."

"And you know about this?" Matt queried. "Because you don't glow. That means...?"

"I'm not a talent, no." Kurt silently mourned the final death of the idle, wistful dream he'd had since he was sixteen. Ah, well. "But I know about them, and I helped Dave with his powers."

"But I don't glow either, when I look down at myself or in a mirror. What's that mean?"

Kurt shrugged helplessly. "Who knows? I stopped trying to understand the metaphysics of these things years ago."

Matt turned to Dave. "So even back in high school, you...?" He got a nod in reply. "Wow. I... I need a minute here." He did look quite pale, not that Kurt couldn't understand. "So I've... got a power too?"

"Sounds like it to me," Kurt said. "Obviously, it's be hard to be sure under these circumstances, but I'm guessing this isn't a coincidence."

"Kind of lame, though, isn't it? I mean, I'd sort of rather be a telekinetic like you. Or maybe telepathy. That'd be cool..."

"Nah, I think what you can do is pretty cool itself," Dave said. "I mean, I work for people who'd love to be able to have you—" He broke off, whirling on Kurt with widening eyes. Kurt felt like he was doing the same, for the implications were starting to sink in.

Dave had told him about how uncertain he was of how organizations like the Agency found talents. It apparently involved monitoring of news and communications and a _lot_ of data crunching. He'd heard that there was constant competition amongst the various factions to find better and easier ways of being the first to find new talents. And here was someone who could find them just by _looking_ at them. Of course, having him people watch or view video footage (assuming he even _could_ see the same glow on video) would be impractical, especially since he'd only seen a grand total of two talents in his entire life, but even a small advantage like this...

"This could be _huge_ ," Dave breathed. Kurt could only nod in agreement.

"What?" Matt asked, brow furrowed. "What could be huge? Me?"

"Okay, it's time for us to tell you our story... Dave's story." Matt listened, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his knees, as Kurt told him things he'd never told another living soul. His narrative and Dave's wove together like a quilt, revealing all the pain and hardship and precious moments of joy they'd shared over the years. Dave talked about the Agency, about the acceptance and control he'd gained while with them, and about his plans for the future.

Matt Rutherford ended up being, in a sense, Dave's first subject as a field counselor.

When they were finished, Matt still looked dazed. "This is a lot to take in..."

"It is," Kurt agreed. "Take as much time as you need."

"It's just... I can't believe this is all real..."

"Yeah, well..." A book floated in front of Dave's face before placing itself back onto the shelf from which it came. "I haven't had much choice but to believe it for years now."

"This is... this is just so incredible. So we're...?"

"Yeah," Dave said with a grin. "We're superheroes." Kurt barely managed to suppress a yelp of laughter. Oh, how far this man had come... "Or you could be. If you joined the Agency..."

"I... I dunno, man. It sounds pretty intense, and... I like the life I have now. A lot."

"Understood. You don't have to decide now. But I gotta tell you, Matt, in case it isn't obvious: you can't tell _anyone_ else about me or you. If anyone found out what you could do, there'd be fights over you. Maybe worse."

"Over me?" Matt repeated in wonder. "Seriously? I... Wow. That's kind of scary. And awesome." He cracked his own grin. "I never really got noticed before."

"Hope that continues," Kurt said bluntly. "At least until you figure out what you want to do with your gift."

Matt bowed his head for a moment in thought, then looked up at them both. "You really think what I can do is... special?" His eyes were swimming with emotion, some weird mixture of disbelief and hope and fear.

"Yeah, I do, and I think I kinda know from special." Dave clapped a hand on Matt's shoulder. "I gotta tell you, dude, it was _such_ a relief to get to meet other people like me... Like _us_. Turns out I knew one all the time. If I'd known before..." He drew in a stuttering breath. "That might've changed a lot."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Matt said. "I never would've told you, even if you'd asked. I didn't know what it was, and I didn't want to think I was crazy."

"Well, you're not," Dave said, "and now you know. You know you're not alone."

"Yeah..." Matt said in a choked voice, ducking his head once more. Was he relieved to have answers? Overwhelmed by everything he'd learned? Kurt could see Dave's hand on his shoulder tighten.

They sat like that for a good minute before the heaving of Matt's shoulders subsided. He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. "You okay?" Kurt asked. He nodded dumbly. "Then why don't we rejoin the party before everyone starts wondering where we are?"

"Good idea." The three young men rose from their chairs. "Um..." Matt began. He hesitated, then went on. "Thanks. For telling me the truth and everything. I... I trust you guys."

"Seriously?" Dave asked.

"Of course. I remember you before you were Karofsky, when you were just Dave. I liked that guy." Matt shrugged. "Glad to see Dave back."

Kurt couldn't help but feel smug, for more than one reason. Dave shuffled his feet. "Uh... Thanks. Sure."

"Well, then," Kurt said, linking arms with both Matt and Dave. "Shall we?"

* * *

As the mixer drew to a close, and the guests were starting to drift out ("Remember, the barbecue starts at five, but the games begin at three!" Rachel called out at the retreating backs), Santana and Brittany approached the trio (Kurt wasn't sure if asking Matt to stick by them for the rest of the party was paranoia, but was it really paranoia if they really were out to get you?).

"Hey!" Brittany said cheerfully. "You guys going to bed already? I wanted to catch up some more with you guys!"

"Later," Matt said. "I had a long plane ride."

"We'd love to," Kurt said. "But do you mind if we drop Matt off at his hotel first?"

"No problem," Santana said. "Why don't we follow? I'll drive—"

"No, San, let me."

"But women in your condition shouldn't be—!"

Brittany groaned. "Oh, God, San, I'm pregnant, not dying! Please, _please_ just let me do this one thing for myself, or I'll go insane!"

The minute she made the request, the reply was pretty much a _fait accompli_. But when Santana acquiesced, it was with surprising reluctance. Maybe she was getting more into this whole motherhood thing than Kurt thought. "Oh, fine. But drive carefully, okay? And if you feel nauseous, tell me. Oh, and if you want, I can—"

"Dave!" Brittany grabbed at his arm. "Why don't you give Santana a ride in your Plymouth? She's been complaining about missing out ever since New York City!" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Please?"

"Oh! Uh, sure! How about it, Santana?"

Santana glanced at Brittany, her eyes wandering to her belly. "I... I don't know..."

"Oh, just go ahead!" Brittany said, placing her hands on Santana's shoulders and lightly shoving her towards Dave. "It's just a short drive, and if anything happens, I swear I'll call. Okay?"

"I..." She exhaled. "Okay." She grabbed Dave's hand. "C'mon, I wanna ride that machine like a big throbbing—"

" _Don't_ go on," Dave said with a laugh as they disappeared out the doors.

Brittany breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God. I love her _so_ much, but ever since I got pregnant... It's, like, I'm _having_ a child, I'm not one myself! Let's go before she changes her mind."

She led them to an older model green Honda Civic. Matt took shotgun while Kurt sat right behind. The drive was relatively short and sedate, with Brittany letting loose with a wave of what was probably long-suppressed gripes over Santana and her overprotectiveness. "She's baby-proofing the house! Four months early! She says she's joking when she says it's for me too, but I'm not so sure." Another case in point: they were the car in the lead, with the Fury close behind. A couple of times, another car innocently took up the space between them, and the Fury would suddenly speed up, maneuvering around the intruder and running parallel to the Civic until a space opened up behind again. Kurt had little doubt that Santana, and a lot of screeching and nagging, had a lot to do with those tactics.

They arrived at the Holiday Inn at around ten. The two cars parked; Kurt and Dave walked Matt inside. "Hi, Mr. Rutherford!" the desk clerk, a young woman with long curly hair, called out in a chipper tone as they entered the lobby. "You get the extra pillows?"

Matt grinned and gave a finger wave. "Yeah, I did, thanks."

"Cool! If you need anything else, let me know! Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Yarborough! How did you like that restaurant I recommended?"

Dave excused himself to get a Coke for the road; that was Kurt's moment to strike. "Matt, can I ask you something a little personal?" he asked as soon as Dave was out of earshot.

"Sure, what?"

"What does Dave... look like to you?"

Matt blinked, then smiled. "Oh. His glow is green — this kinda deep, rich green, like emeralds. He shines really brightly."

"Yes... that he does."

It only took a minute for Dave to return, and another few after that to see Matt up to his hotel room.

"We've got your phone number, so we'll talk again tomorrow," Kurt said. "I know how this must feel for you, but it's okay; we have this entire reunion to figure this out."

"Thanks," Matt said. "I'm just glad there's _someone_ I can finally talk to about this. I don't know how you two did it by yourselves."

"Sometimes, neither do I," Kurt said softly. They said their good nights and took a silent trip down on the elevator. "Unbelievable," he said in a low voice as they went through the lobby. "All this time, _two_ at McKinley, and both in the glee club... Maybe there _is_ something in the water."

"Yeah, it is a weird coincidence, isn't it? But man, if I could bring him back...!"

"It would certainly help the Agency, yes." They paused by the hotel doors. "So you really think they're people who deserve to be helped?"

"I do," Dave said firmly. "I've been with them for five years, and I believe in them now." Kurt thought of Brody, of his passion for his employers, and couldn't help but shiver. "And not even through any flashy mind control shit either. They walked the walk, and I do think they really do want what's best."

 _No matter what it takes?_ But he didn't voice that doubt aloud. There'd be time enough for doubts later.

The blare of a horn caught their attention. "Hey! Pick up the fucking pace!" Santana yelled from across the lot. "You gonna let Brittany just sit in the car waiting for your asses? Move it!"

The two young men laughed. "She's right. We should get on the road," Kurt said.

"I don't suppose we could switch cars...?" Dave asked, a hopeful note in his voice.

"Nope, sorry. Not even driving the Fury is worth having to put up with the kind of backseat driving I _know_ you're putting up with."

"Damn."

The group agreed to convene at Brittany's parents' new home, in the country outskirts of Lima. Once again, Brittany took the lead, Kurt sitting right beside her. Strip malls gave way to groves of trees, packed rows of houses to open fields, the surrounding traffic dwindling away to nothingness. They rode in comfortable silence, Kurt taking advantage of a moment's respite from the events of the past hours and days, Brittany (undoubtedly) taking advantage of a moment's respite from a hovering wife.

They were nearing a bridge running over a river when a pair of headlights cast a glare into the car — the first signs of other automotive life besides the Fury behind them that they'd seen in a while. The headlights bounced just slightly as it passed over the bridge.

What happened next would always be a blur, it happened so fast. Kurt could only remember a series of images, sounds, feelings:

The screeching of tires.

The headlights filling the windshield, looming brighter and brighter.

Brittany screaming.

More screeching of tires.

His head brushing the ceiling as the car jostled and bumped over uneven terrain.

The splash.

The angry hiss of airbags deploying.

The shock of cold water seeping into his shoes.

That last was what brought Kurt's mind back into focus.

The car was rapidly filling with water. With trembling fingers, Kurt undid his seat belt. "Britt, are you—?"

Brittany was slumped over, breathing but unconscious. He wasn't sure what had done it — the shock, the steering wheel, the airbag — but he also knew this wasn't the time to be speculating.

His hands were trembling even harder now, from the cold water gushing through all the small cracks and crevices it could find. He managed to unlock Brittany's seat belt (which was much too loose — was that a factor?), but maneuvering her still form was even harder than he expected, just from the awkward contortions he had to make in the cramped space. The water wasn't making any of it easier.

"Britt?" No response. "Brittany, wake up..." Still nothing.

He could get out, easily, but how could he leave Brittany?

Kurt began to panic as the water crept higher.

He didn't know what was going on on the shore. He'd only hear about it later.

_"Oh my god oh my god oh my god..."_

_"San! Santana, listen to me! You have to go get help...!"_

_"No! Fuck you! I'm not leaving her! Britt!_ Brittany! _Let me go! I have to—!"_

_"I'll—! I'll get them out."_

_"Well, just don't fucking_ stand there _!_ Do _something!"_

_What Dave did was step closer to the shore, close his eyes, and gather his strength._

Kurt knew what was happening the instant the water level stopped rising. He wasn't entirely sure he was glad, but either way, he knew.

_"What the fuck...?" Dave barely heard Santana's voice behind him. It was soft, and his heart was pounding in his ears, his power singing in his head._

Kurt propped Brittany's head back against the seat to keep her face from dipping into the water — not that he technically had to bother, as it was rapidly receding. Obviously, hiding Dave's power from Santana was a lost cause; he only hoped that no one else was around, or this whole thing could become extremely sticky extremely fast...

His shirt clung to his chest. Cold crept up his spine.

_It was easy. God, it was practically effortless, dragging the car out of the water. But he had to be careful; he didn't want to go too quickly and risk hurting either Kurt or Brittany._

_He carefully stepped back as more and more of the car emerged, his telekinesis holding it fast, holding it together. Enough of his mind was idle to wonder just what the fuck it was with him and car accidents. Maybe he had some kind of secondary talent for coming across them?  
_

_"What the fuck...?" Santana repeated behind him._

Kurt could feel the car come to a rest on the river shore, the water gurgling out, and he finally felt like he could _breathe_ again. He heard twin pairs of footsteps rushing towards them — no more, which was a good sign.

The driver's side door opened, and Dave and Santana appeared. Kurt mentally expressed approval; he was glad that Dave's feelings for him hadn't blinkered him to who was more vulnerable. He managed to shove open his door, his sodden shoes squelching in the mud, as Dave gently drew Brittany out of the car. "Did one of you call 911?"

"Yeah," Dave said, "as soon as you went in."

"Then we don't have much time. Push the car back in. Keep the doors open. I managed to free her, and you helped open the doors from the outside."

"Got it." He carried Brittany to his car and laid her out on the back seat.

"Dave!" Kurt barked. "No one will believe our story if you're still dry!"

"Oh! Right!" Dave waded into the water, even as he telekinetically rolled the Honda back into the river.

Through all this, Santana was just staring at them both, mouth wide open, tremors coursing through her body. If he hadn't been so cold, wet, and miserable, Kurt might've reveled in the sight of Santana Lopez actually being speechless for once.

Then again, she _knew_ now. That was definitely a complication they didn't need.

Kurt's ears pricked; he could hear sirens in the distance growing increasingly louder with each passing second. Santana seemed to hear it too; she immediately rushed to Brittany's side, cooing and smoothing her hair. Two ambulances took shape in the gloom.

The paramedics were swift and efficient. Kurt insisted he was okay (because he was), and that Brittany was the one who needed them more. Initial examination showed no immediate serious harm to her, but she and the baby needed to be checked at the hospital. Santana leaped into one of the ambulances beside the stretcher. As soon as she sat down, she turned, casting a baleful glare at her two former glee club compatriots.

"When this is over, we're gonna have a _talk_ ," she snarled. The ambulance doors slammed shut, and it sped away into the night.

Kurt and Dave exchanged glances. "Shit."

"Yeah. Shit."

* * *

A figure watched from a copse of trees nearby, nodding to itself in satisfaction.

_I was right._

* * *

"Sorry I took so long. I'm still new to this town." The middle aged police detective who emerged from the freshly arrived car reminded Kurt of Columbo: black haired and rumpled, shuffling of step, bleary-eyed. But even his shuffling movements were strong and decisive, and those bleary eyes sparkled with wit and intelligence. "I'm Detective Vincent. You told one of the other officers that another car ran you off the road?"

Kurt nodded, drawing the blanket draped over his shoulders, given by another paramedic, tighter around him. "It just swerved into our lane. I have no idea why. My friend Brittany — the one in the hospital — was driving, and she swerved to avoid them, and we..." He waved his hands at the tire marks gouged into the slope to his left.

Detective Vincent nodded. "Yeah, I see that. Tire marks on the bridge support your story too. There was a report of a stolen truck almost an hour ago — might be connected, might not be. Could be a drunk driver too. We'll have to see. Probably not deliberate, though, unless you can think of a reason why someone might want to hurt one of you."

 _Actually, there are plenty, but..._ Kurt shook his head. "I don't think so." To an extent, it was true; he doubted Dave and his talents had anything to do with this.

Oh, how he prayed he was right.

"I called the hospital just before I got here," the detective said. "You'll be glad to know that your friend is okay. So's her baby."

Dave breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank fucking God."

"Yeah, just a few bumps and bruises, but otherwise fine. Not even a concussion from her unconsciousness. Very lucky girl." He paused, his eyes examining the two young men. Kurt shivered once more, but not from the cold. "You were too. You guys did good, getting her out of there. Not many people would've stayed calm in that kind of situation."

"Yeah, well..." Dave exhaled. "I was as scared as hell."

"I'm sure your friend appreciates what you did for her either way. You already gave your statements to Officer Brewer?" Kurt and Dave both nodded. "Then you two should go home, take a hot shower, get some sleep. Further questions can wait 'til morning. I'll let you know if we find out anything, okay?"

They gave grateful goodbyes to the detective and wearily shambled towards the Fury.

"Oh, God..." Kurt gasped. "We're both soaking wet! What'll that do to the upholstery...?"

"Fuck the upholstery," Dave sighed. "I'll get it cleaned or whatever later if it'll make you happy. Can we just go home?"

By now, the adrenaline had long worn off, so Kurt had no energy to argue. A few minutes after they got back on the road, Dave's cell phone, tossed onto the front seat after he'd made his 911 call, blared its ringtone. "Can you get that, Kurt?" Dave asked, eyes glued to the road and hands firmly on the wheel.

Kurt picked up the phone; it took him a second for his eyes to focus on the screen. "It's Santana," he said.

Dave, to his credit, didn't so much as twitch in Kurt's direction. It seemed the close call had infused some road paranoia in him. "Think we should answer it?"

"You think she'll let us get away with not answering?"

"No."

"Me neither." Sighing, Kurt thumbed the screen. "Hello?"

"Brittany is okay," Santana's voice said flatly. She didn't even seem surprised that it was Kurt who answered. Then again, she was probably smart enough to realize that Kurt's own phone was a pretty much a waterlogged plastic brick at the moment.

"So we heard."

"Where are you right now?"

"We just got finished talking to the police. We're on our way home."

"I'll be at Karofsky's place in half an hour. We're _gonna_ have that talk."

"Can't I even get a shower first?" The phone bleeped, the words "Call Ended" flashing onto the screen. Kurt cursed under his breath.

"You can dry off when we get to my house," Dave said as Kurt dropped the phone back onto the seat between them. "Luckily for us, Dad's most likely asleep by now."

"You didn't have to, you know." Kurt winced; he hadn't meant to actually _scold_ Dave for helping people, especially not _himself_. But that disapproving tone had crept in before he could consciously realize it was there.

"Maybe not," Dave replied firmly, "but it was the fastest way. The surest way. I wasn't gonna gamble with the lives of you and Brittany, not to save my own skin."

"You're really going to tell Santana the truth?"

"Like you said, you think she'll let us get away with not telling her? Or explain what she saw in any other way she'll believe?"

"No."

"Me neither. I guess we just gotta hope she'll understand."

If it weren't Dave's entire life hanging in the balance, Kurt might have laughed.

* * *

The Karofsky house was completely dark when they arrived. Good; at least that meant that they wouldn't have the additional complication of Paul Karofsky lurking about.

The two trudged silently inside. Kurt followed Dave upstairs, watching dully as he went into a bathroom and quickly emerged with a couple of towels and a white bathrobe.

"Here," he said. "You can at least get out of your wet clothes for a while. I'll be in my room."

Exhaustion flowed through Kurt in waves, but he forced himself to remain upright. He shut himself in the bathroom and gingerly peeled his clothes off, wincing as his mind ticked off each item that was dry clean only. The warm, fluffy bathrobe was _heaven_ on his chilled skin; he snuggled into it like a teddy bear. It was obviously bought for Dave or Paul, as it was _very_ big around the shoulders, but otherwise, it fit well enough. As he hung his clothes on various available spaces to dry, he heard a rapid muffled knock on the front door.

Sighing, he hurried downstairs as the knock grew louder and more insistent; it was a race to get there before _someone_ decided to try the doorbell and maybe wake up Paul. Kurt threw the door open; a glaring Santana Lopez stood on the other side. She charged in without even a word of greeting. "Where is he?" she demanded.

"Upstairs, getting dry. You know, this could have waited until—"

"No, it couldn't have, and you fucking know it." She whirled on him; he actually physically recoiled. "In fact, you seemed to _know_ a hell of a fucking lot. Don't think I didn't notice _that_." Indeed, he hadn't assumed otherwise; Santana was hardly stupid. "Maybe if it weren't for that, I could've believed that neither of you had anything to do with what happened." She crossed her arms. "So spill. _Now_."

"Let's go to my dad's den." The two turned to see Dave come down the stairs, dressed in a fresh pair of shorts and t-shirt. "We'll have privacy there, in case he wakes up."

"Fine. Let's hurry this up; I want to go back to Brittany as soon as I can." Santana actually led the way to the den, which made Kurt wonder, just a little, about their relationship back in high school. She waited impatiently as Kurt and Dave followed her in, then slammed the door behind them. She sat at Dave's father's desk while the two men took the small leather sofa. "Explain," she said. "Now."

"San..."

"I _know_ I'm not crazy. I _know_ what I saw. And what I saw... It's fucking _impossible_. Or at least it's supposed to be..."

"Santana!" Kurt interrupted. "Do you want us to explain or not?"

Santana pinched the bridge of her nose, her breathing only barely slowing. "Okay... Okay. Just... start talking."

So, for the second time that night, Dave explained to someone what he was and showed them what he could do. The mute shock that Santana had displayed at the river came back in full force. He carefully told her as much as he could about his powers and the existence of other people like him, eliding over most of the Agency and its existence. Kurt told her how he'd found out, and how he'd been helping Dave ever since high school. When he was done, she was pale, gripping the armrests of her chair with whitened knuckles.

It took her minutes to finally say something. "I can't... I can't believe you two kept this from me this entire time..."

"We had to," Dave said. "I didn't want anyone to find out, not even my parents..."

"No, I meant, I can't believe you were smart enough to hide something this _huge_ for so long!" _Ah,_ Kurt thought, _that's more like her_. "This... this is...!" She rubbed her forehead. "I always knew you were kind of a freak, Karofsky..." Kurt's back straightened in umbrage, even though her tone was clearly not serious, and he knew how shock could make people do and say some weird things. "But I never expected anything like _this_."

"You _cannot_ tell _anyone_ about this, Santana," Kurt said harshly. "Not Brittany, not _anyone_. This is Dave's _life_ at stake here, and the more people who know, the more danger he's in. _You_ may be in danger just knowing."

"Oh, don't fucking worry about that," Santana said. "Any of that." She turned to Dave. "You saved Britt. You saved our child. I'll go to the fucking _grave_ before I tell anyone, ever."

Kurt saw the dangerous gleam in Santana's eye, and believed her. He breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"But seriously," she continued, "you couldn't have dropped a _little_ hint in high school, Karofsky? A fucking telekinetic on the fucking Cheerios... We would've been _unstoppable_! You selfish son of a bitch!"

She was deflecting — Kurt knew that. She _had_ to retreat into familiar emotional territory just to deal with the fact that her comforting illusions about the nature of reality had been suddenly and completely blown apart. He could completely relate.

"So..." Dave said tentatively, "you don't think I'm... a freak or a monster or anything like that?"

Santana snorted. "Do you not remember high school? I've spent years of my life interacting with the biggest freaks on the planet. Compared to Rachel, you're not even in the same ballpark. As for being a 'monster,' you've got to be kidding me. I've known you for a long time, and there's no way a pudgy declawed teddy bear like you could be a fucking monster, even with freaky powers." She paused. "Besides, there's also no way a monster would've exposed himself the way you did to save other people."

Kurt couldn't help but wonder if Santana would have been so accepting if Dave hadn't just helped Brittany. Then again what ifs wouldn't do any good here. She accepted Dave, as he'd hoped she would — "why" didn't really matter, not right now.

Dave smiled, tension visibly leaving his shoulders. "Thanks."

"No, thank you, for saving my family." The words were quiet and sincere — two words that Kurt didn't normally associate with Santana Lopez.

"You're welcome. I'm... I'm just glad I could help."

"Wow," Santana said with a smirk, "you really have gone full blown superhero, haven't you? Bet the Bully Whips inspired you, huh?" She gave them both a smug and triumphant grin.

A snort escaped Kurt's tightly shut lips. Dave chuckled. "Yeah, sure, San. It's all because of you."

"I knew it!"

If Kurt hadn't known any better, he would've sworn she did it on purpose, to relieve some of the tension and the heaviness. But she was, well, Santana, so obviously, that was impossible.

* * *

Kurt Hummel slept like the dead that night. He'd snuck into his childhood home after Dave dropped him off, put as many clothes into the dryer as he could, and went straight to bed. He was unconscious within seconds.

The next morning, he didn't say a word to his father or Carole about the accident (if accident it was); it would've aroused too many questions and caused too much worry. Even more than being afraid for himself, he was afraid for his parents — afraid of what an early death might do to a couple who'd already lost one son. He couldn't do that to them.

He was just about finished with breakfast when a knock came on the front door. "I'll get it." Kurt got up, snatching up his plate and glass before Carole could get her hands on them, quickly shoving them into the dishwasher on his way out of the kitchen. He opened the door to find a skittish Dave on the other side.

"Oh, thank God you're home. I forgot you don't have a working phone, and I tried to call, but—"

"Dave..." Kurt's heart was already racing; Dave's tension was infectious. "What's the matter?"

He stepped into the house just as Kurt's father and Carole emerged from the kitchen. "Oh, Dave!" the latter called out. "Welcome back to Lima!"

The smile Dave put on was very convincingly genuine; Kurt wondered if it was actual pleasure, or if the Agency had honed his deceptive abilities more than he'd thought. "Thanks, Mrs. Hummel. It's good to be back."

"Hope you've been spending quality time with your father," Burt said. "I'm sure he appreciates his son setting aside time to be with his loving dad." He cast a pointed, if not entirely serious, glare at Kurt.

Dave laughed, the bastard. "Yes, I am."

"Well, feel free to stop by anytime. Enjoy the reunion." Carole gave him a nod, and the two parents went into the living room. Taking a last look at them disappear over his shoulder, Kurt led Dave into the now empty kitchen.

As soon as the swinging door shut behind them, Dave took an envelope out of his pocket. "This was shoved under my door sometime last night," he said, "after you and Santana left." Kurt took it; it was plain white, common as dirt, with Dave's name and address written on it. No stamp, no return address. He opened the flap and drew out a computer-printed letter:

_You put on quite the show at the river last night. I saw everything. You did not disappoint me.  
_

_I have a business proposition for you. Meet me at your old high school at midnight tonight. I'll be in the gym. I'll find my own way in._

_Please come alone. I promise this will be worth your while._

_Don't worry, I won't tell a soul. This will be our little secret._

It was unsigned.

Kurt looked up at Dave; there were many implications in those few words, and all of them were disturbing. Dave nodded grimly. "Yeah."

"Are you...?"

"Gonna go? I think I sort of have to, don't you? If I don't, who knows what this guy will do."

"It'll be dangerous. Very dangerous."

"You don't think I know that? Anyway, in case you haven't noticed, I can protect myself."

"Oh, for— Come on, Dave, I would've thought that all this time with me and the Agency would've cured you of this ridiculous notion that you have to go it alone just to be noble. In fact, you should tell the Agency, have them send someone experienced. At least ask for advice."

"Right, that'll go over swell. Not yet even field certified, and I've already given myself away."

"Better than you getting kidnapped, or worse."

"I want to see if I can solve this before it ever gets close to that point. I think I can do it, Kurt."

Kurt groaned. Damn Dave and his damn stubbornness! If he ever got the chance, he decided he'd have to have a nice chat with someone at the Agency about to train this white knight syndrome out of Dave. "Then I'll come with you."

"No. Uh-uh. He said to come alone..."

"I'll keep myself hidden. You give me your cell phone, and the instant things start to go bad, I'll..." He paused.

"Do what?" Dave asked quietly, filling in the unspoken words. "Call the cops?"

"If I have to. We don't have to explain anything we don't want to, and if this guy is bothering to send you mysterious notes and saying he'll keep quiet, he probably doesn't want to give you away either. You won't do any good to him if you're exposed, and it's plain he wants _something_ out of you. Do you really know what he'll do if you say no?" Dave said nothing; that was a victory for Kurt, as far as he was concerned. "Just... consider me backup. I'll keep out of his sight and out of danger, I promise."

"What if it's not just this one guy?" Dave persisted. "What if he has backup of his own?"

"Then I'll ask the 911 operator for the SWAT team. Please, Dave. If you won't call the Agency, at least let me come. If you don't, you and I both know I'll find a way to defy you and go anyway, so why don't we just skip to the part where you give in? It'll save us both a lot of time."

Dave heaved a heavy, yet somewhat affectionate, sigh. "Okay, okay, fine. But you have to _promise_ to run the _instant_ things go bad. I don't want to be responsible for you getting caught in the middle of some firefight or shit."

"You should've thought of that before you decided to solve this on your own. But I'll promise anyway." He crossed his fingers behind his back.

* * *

The New Directions barbeque later that day was... pleasant. The sky was blue, the sun warm, the breezes cool. But Kurt still had to bring every ounce of theatrical training to muster to put on a relaxed smile and _not_ look for men in black suits around every tree. He actually managed to impress himself, catching up with old friends and chatting as if he had nothing in the world to worry about besides what to put on his hot dog. _Star-making performance, and no one will ever know about it. Wonderful._

Still, though, he noticed significant glances being shot everywhere: by Dave, by Matt, by Santana. The funny thing was, none of them noticed the other two doing it. But Kurt noticed. _Subtlety_ , Kurt thought in mild disgust. _Am I the only one around here with_ any _subtlety_?

Then again, it appeared that these were things that were obvious only when one was looking for them, because he got no sense whatsoever that anyone else — even a bruised but functional Brittany, over whom Santana was now hovering even more than ever, much to her annoyance — noticed anything odd was going on at all.

Rachel, at least, had an excuse; she was too busy making sure everything was perfect, perfect, perfect: the food, the activities, the company. She probably would've manipulated the weather if she were able (and Dave told him someone he knew actually _was_ able, which made him distinctly uncomfortable just considering).

He'd hoped he'd get into a rhythm, relax, be able to get his mind off Dave and mysterious messages for even just a few minutes, but he was mostly unsuccessful. As evening descended over the park, Kurt began to shiver — not from the cooling air, but from the consciousness that midnight was drawing ever closer.

"The fun is _really_ going to heat up tomorrow!" Rachel said cheerfully as the barbeque came to a close. "Here's a hint: be prepared for lots of fond memories! See you then, and I highly encourage everyone to share activities outside of the reunion! Who knows when we'll all see each other again!"

_When indeed?_

Kurt and Dave did get a few offers to hit bars or karaoke cafes, but they politely declined. After checking up with Brittany ("Help me," she mouthed silently to them, but alas, they could do nothing for her this time), they joined Matt for coffee, then returned him to the hotel. In his room, they talked for hours. Actually, Kurt and Matt mostly listened; it was Dave who talked, primarily to Matt, about his experiences with his power, about the kind of training he'd received, about the people he'd met and the abilities he'd witnessed. Kurt had already heard most of it, but Matt's eyes seemed to light up with wonder with each new story.

"Wow..." he breathed. "I had no idea... This was out there all this time... And I'm actually... one of them? One of you?"

"Yup," Dave said. "You're part of a pretty exclusive family, man. No matter what you decide, I promise I'll do what I can to help out. I know how shitty life as a talent can be if you're alone. One of the big reasons why I decided to join the Agency and become a field counselor was to make sure no one else would ever have to go through what I did before I met Kurt."

It was kind of awe-inducing, knowing that someone had divided their life in such a way: BK and AK. Before Kurt and After Kurt — not only divided, but had such a significant difference in the two eras that it was plain to anyone who knew the facts.

It was slowly starting to sink in: it wasn't just gushing or gratitude, Dave was right. He, Kurt Hummel, had actually helped save a life. Would anything he did from now on be as meaningful? He hoped so.

Unlike the barbeque, this was an activity that actually drew in Kurt's attention. By the time they said their good nights to Matt, it was past eleven pm. The two were silent as they made their way across the parking lot.

"It's almost time," Dave said.

"Yeah."

"You're still sure—?"

"Not only am I _positive_ , but we're going to go over positioning and signals along the way. If you're going to blunder into danger like some kind of rabid rhinoceros, you at least need to be somewhat prepared for the worst."

"More fucking quizzes? Do you get off on having this much power over me?"

There were shades to that question, Kurt knew — most of them completely unintentional on Dave's part. But he simply laughed and said, "Like I told you in high school, you have force of mind, I have force of will. Same power, different purposes."

"Which just means you're a stubborn, arrogant bitch."

"You say that like it's a bad thing!"

The laughter they shared would be the last for the night.

* * *

McKinley High was as ominous as ever at night. Kurt was distinctly reminded of the night after he first witnessed Dave's telekinesis, of pulling into a similarly empty and dark parking lot. He drew his coat tightly around his chest.

Dave shut off the car. "I'm going in."

Kurt nodded, slumping further in his seat in case someone was watching. "I'll follow you on the three minute count." Dave opened his door. "Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"... Be safe."

He froze in mid-exit. He was silent for a moment, not even looking back. Then he said, "I will. Thank you." The door slammed shut, blocking Dave from view.

Even though he wanted to charge out immediately, Kurt kept his word and his nerve, waiting exactly three minutes before slipping carefully out of the Fury and making his way across the lot, hunched over, the crunching of gravel echoing like gunshots in his ears. He winced with each footfall.

Dave had kept the door slightly ajar, as promised. Kurt made a distant mental note to ask Dave to demonstrate the subtleties of telekinetic lock picking someday. The shadowy nighttime halls of McKinley had grown no more welcoming over the intervening years and change in curriculum; it was still the same splashes of ominous darkness, the same dull, dead silence. Kurt hugged the walls, both to hide his presence and to make sure he didn't run into something. The last thing he needed was to make a racket or get a bruised shin.

If his memory wasn't fooling him, the gym should be around this next corner; he and Dave had specifically chosen his parking spot for its proximity. He could already see a sheet of light shining from around that corner — incongruous for this late at night. It seemed that the letter writer was on time.

The impression was further confirmed by the somewhat muffled voices. "... the hell are you?" That was Dave.

"Calm down, Dave," another, unfamiliar male voice said. There was a supercilious note to it that instantly set Kurt's teeth on edge.

"And how the fuck do you know my name?"

"I do my research. Trust me, I'm _very_ good at that."

Kurt carefully peeked around the corner. The door to the gym was also slightly ajar, just as Kurt had requested. Hunkering down, almost crawling on hands and knees, he looked through the hairline crack. He was in luck; the other man just happened to be standing at the right angle to be seen.

He was about their age, maybe a little older, tall and skinny — quite skinny. Kurt almost thought that if Dave wrapped his hand around the man's thigh, he'd still have space underneath. He had black hair, and a short mustache and beard. He wore black jeans and a gray t-shirt underneath a black leather jacket. There was a bit of a sneer to his thin lips, as if it were a permanent feature of his. The man was looking to Kurt's left; that was probably where Dave was standing.

"Yeah, well, you're not saying much to make me particularly trust you," Dave's voice said.

"Sorry," the man drawled. "My name is Evan. Sorry for this cloak and dagger stuff, but I wanted to make sure you knew how serious I am."

"Oh? Well, I'm pretty fucking serious myself."

"Dave—" Evan took a step forward.

"Don't come any closer! Not until you fucking explain yourself. Did you know I had powers before last night?"

"Yes. At least, I suspected. Last night just confirmed it."

"How did you know?"

The superciliousness of Evan's smirk grew stronger. "Sorry, that's my... _our_ secret."

"Whose secret? Just who the fuck are you?"

"Calm down and let me explain..." He took another step forward. Kurt wasn't sure if the man was arrogant, stupid, or some combination thereof.

"I said, _don't come any closer_..."

Kurt only saw half of what happened next; he only got the full story from Dave later.

That was the moment Dave brought his power to bear. It was mostly instinct, his nerves already highly strung from the anticipation and the mystery. His telekinesis shoved at Evan — not very hard, but enough to put some more distance between them. Evan stumbled back a couple of steps, and then...

Well, what occurred then, nobody could see — nobody except the two men, and only on a very different level than eyes were capable of perceiving.

Dave gasped in astonishment. Evan merely raised his eyebrows. "Oh, now _that's_ interesting," he said. He smiled. "That alone makes this whole trip worthwhile."

"I... You..." Dave stammered. "I... I can feel..."

"Yes, I can feel your telekinesis, same as you can probably feel mine." Evan slipped his hands into his pockets casually. "That's right, Dave, I'm a telekinetic too. And to explain: I've asked you here to offer you a job."


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt's breath hitched in his throat. He'd halfway suspected something like this, but this other guy — Evan — being a telekinetic too only complicated matters. At least with other powers, Dave could possibly have some kind of advantage. But these two started on even footing, and right now, Kurt had no idea which would win.

"A job," Dave repeated, his voice a little strained.

"Yes, a job." Evan smiled in a way that was supposed to be charming, but struck Kurt as merely kind of slimy. "I work for a group called the Midas Consortium—"

"Oh. Them," Dave said with a note of disgust.

Evan's eyebrows rose again. "So you've heard of us?"

Kurt resisted the urge to slap his forehead. It seemed Dave did indeed have a lot to learn. On the other hand, it was one thing to learn about how to deal with other factions — it was quite another to actually have to _do_ it (and with no assistance, because you're a bullheaded _oaf_ who thinks he has to save the world all by himself to make up for a past he made up for long ago).

"Um... Yeah."

"Good things, I hope?" Evan said with a smirk.

"Actually, no," Dave said, his voice growing cold. Evan's smirk disappeared. _Good, Dave; throw him off-balance. Stall him, feel him out before you try anything._ "I heard you're a bunch of greedy fucking mercenaries who don't care about anything but money."

Evan, for his part, quickly regained his oily veneer. "I prefer to think of us as more of an 'employment agency'. Maybe a little more unusual than most, but we're really no different than any place that manages temps."

Dave snorted. "Yeah, for old billionaires who already have everything they could ever want."

Evan shrugged. "They pay for our training and infrastructure. And the poor can't afford BMWs either. It's Free Market 101."

"And you want me to work for them too."

"Of course. Midas is always on the lookout for those with useful powers, and obviously, we think telekinesis is pretty high up that list. You'd have the patronage and gratitude of _very_ influential forces, and you should see our retirement package. If your work is sufficiently in demand, you'd be able to afford a whole _fleet_ of classic cars."

"And what kind of... work would I be doing?"

"It depends what our clients demand. I'll admit, not all of it is exactly... legal. But we only give out jobs to those we believe can and want to handle them. If they can't, after all, we don't get paid."

"Any of them include hurting people?"

"Depends on what you define as 'hurting,'" Evan replied carefully. Even so, Kurt found his tone _much_ too casual for the weight of the question he was answering. "So far, though, we've never been asked to target another talent, so that's fine."

"'That's fine'?!" Dave echoed in disbelief, mirroring Kurt's impulse. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"That means," Evan said with a touch of impatience, "that life is too short for people like us to be worrying about inferior beings. We are important, Dave, to a lot of people. _You_ are important. Powers like ours is Midas' most valuable resource. That's why they invest so much effort into recruitment. That's my full time job, so you see, you wouldn't even have to take assignments to earn your keep." He took half a step forward, his arms outstretched in sincere pleading, but stopped himself; it seemed as though he _could_ learn. "Think about it, Dave. Anything you've ever wanted, yours for the asking. Security, real security, for yourself, your family, the people you love. Midas can provide all of that, and more. And you wouldn't be alone either; you'd have the support of your colleagues, and any sort of... company you want. Women, men, farm animals..." He chuckled at his little joke. Or at least Kurt hoped it was a joke. "I don't know who you work for now — I know it must be _someone_ , if you've heard of us — but whoever they are, they can't do for you what we can. Not even close." His face turned serious for the first time. "We need you, Dave. Please, join us."

Dave's reply was immediate, to Kurt's pride: "You're joking, right?"

"Not about Midas. Not about what they could give you. Everything's negotiable. Everything."

"Not me," he said. "You may need me, but there are people, _normal_ people without powers, who need me even more."

Evan snorted. "Oh, the sentimental type, huh? Look, you may not know much about how the world works..." Kurt could almost imagine the hackles on Dave's neck rising. "... But I do. Let me explain something: money makes the world go around. It's cliche, but it's true. I meant what I said: everything's negotiable, and that includes people. Yes, even you. It's just a matter of what the price is." He regarded Dave coolly. "You know, it's not standard Midas operating procedure to force people to join us. It's a headache that does more harm to us than good, no matter how powerful the talent. But we are very good at being... persuasive."

"Yeah, I've seen what you're good at already," Dave snarled. "Like putting innocent people at risk." It was a guess, Kurt knew, but it was a good one, given what had already been said.

Evan clucked his tongue. "Oh, that? I had every confidence that you could get your friends out of that. I wouldn't be in this stinking town if I didn't."

"And what about the people in the other car you forced into Kurt's path? What if they'd gotten hurt?"

"Why do you care? You don't even know who was in it." He shrugged. "I don't."

"You son of a—"

The next half a minute went by so fast that even had he been able to see it all, Kurt knew he probably couldn't have processed it anyway. The way Dave described it later put this sequence of events in his mind's eye:

In his outrage, Dave lashed out with his power. Evan countered with his own, deflecting the force sent his way. While Dave was distracted by his frontal assault and his own anger, Evan was sending out his telekinesis to the sides, so fast that Dave barely had time to notice, let alone react.

A folding chair shot out from against a wall, unfolding and crashing into the back of Dave's knees. Startled, Dave's telekinetic assault ceased as his butt fell into the chair. An extension cord ripped itself from a socket and whipped around Dave like a python, tying him tightly down. Then, before Dave could use his powers to free himself, the entire chair rose into the air and spun around at terrific speed, shattering any hope he had of concentrating — of doing anything besides watch the world whirl by as a dizzy blur.

Kurt heard Dave's startled cries, and bit his lip. His hand went to his pocket, to Dave's cell phone, but before he could make a decision, he heard the chair (though he didn't know what it was at the time) hit the ground, and heard his friend groan, interrupted by the occasional gagging noise.

"Speed of thought," Evan said smugly. "Midas has given me the best training money can buy." He hunkered down so he was eye to eye with the groggy Dave. "Let me level with you," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "I don't know enough about you, but I already like you. We're brothers, you and I, tied together by a bond even stronger than blood. It really, actually kills me to think of you wasting your gifts on people who don't deserve it. So I'm going to do everything in my power to get you to come with me, and come with me willingly." He patted Dave on the cheek condescendingly. "So don't worry, buddy. I won't hurt a hair on the heads of your dad, your glee club pals, anyone you care about. We're not as cold-blooded as ERI or maniacs like the Cleansers. But you _will_ join Midas. And you have no. Fucking. Clue what I'll do to make that happen." He stood upright. "Good night, Dave. We'll talk again soon."

Waiting for Evan to leave the gym was the longest minute of Kurt's life. It wasn't until he heard a door click shut that he launched himself from his hiding place, immediately running to Dave's side. His head was lolling and his eyes were unfocused, and he was heaving in a quite disgusting way, but he seemed fine otherwise.

A car engine turned over outside. Kurt sprinted to the door Evan had apparently left by and cracked it open, just in time to see a shiny Cadillac start to pull away from the curb running in front of the gym. Overhead lamps illuminated the license plate as it swung into view; Kurt was barely able to mutter the number under his breath before it disappeared into the night.

He tapped the license plate number into the cell phone, then rushed back to Dave. His eyes were starting to regain focus now. Kurt unknotted the extension cord tied around him. "Are you all right?"

"I..." Dave tried to stand, but immediately plopped back into the chair again, so hard that it almost shifted underneath him; it would've dumped him unceremoniously onto the floor if Kurt hadn't jammed his foot behind it to stop it. "Just give me a second... Goddamn bastard..."

"You're lucky he didn't do anything worse." It wasn't a scold; it was a mere statement of fact.

"Yeah, I know..." Dave unsteadily tried to rise again. "Okay... Okay, I think I'm good now." And he was — or at least enough to stand on his own two feet again. "Shit, that was embarrassing..."

"What happened?"

"He... God, he was _fast_. And the way he was able to focus on multiple things at once... I'm pretty good at that myself, but I'm nowhere _near_ that good yet. You asked me why I thought I had more to learn? _That's_ what I'll be capable of if I keep training."

Kurt nodded grimly. "Good for you, but that leaves us in a delicate situation, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. He said he wouldn't make me go against my will..."

"But if he extorts you, or holds something over you to get you to go with him, does that count as being against your will? You'd be the one making the choice to give in, after all."

"That's kind of a technicality, isn't it?"

"Oh, I've met his kind at Vogue all the time. It's how they think." Kurt watched as Dave took an experimental step; it was firm and steady. "Okay, you look like you're better now. We should get out of here."

"What... what do you think he's going to do now?"

"If I had to guess? Lay low. Find out your weak points. We can't just wait for him to show up again, though." Kurt thought for a few minutes. He spoke again as they strode out into the parking lot. "Will you call the Agency now?"

Dave exhaled. "Yeah. I don't think I have much of a choice anymore. I should at least let them know that someone from Midas is poking around."

"How do you do it?"

"Security's pretty tight, as you can imagine. I've got a panic button on my phone that's pretty much the equivalent of calling in the SWAT team..."

"And you didn't tell me that before you went in?!"

"Because it's for _really_ serious, Godzilla-level shit, not if it's just _my_ fucking life in danger. We all have to think about the big picture." The two climbed into the Fury; the engine roared to life. "For non-emergency stuff, there's a special encrypted e-mail program on my laptop at home."

"Then let's go." Kurt looked out the window thoughtfully as Dave pulled out onto the street. "Mind if I use your phone?"

"Go ahead." Kurt scrolled through Dave's contacts until he found the number he was looking for. "Who're you calling?"

"Matt. I want to make sure he's okay. If Evan's been following you..."

"Oh, shit, I didn't even think about that."

_"Hey, this is Matt. Sorry I missed your call..."_

"Voicemail," Kurt said.

"Yeah, well, it is past midnight. He's probably asleep."

"I know, but I'd feel better knowing he's safe. Matt, this is Kurt. If you hear this, call back as soon as possible. There may be a problem. We're coming over, and I'll explain then. Thanks." He tapped off the connection. "Let's go to the hotel. I just want to be sure."

"No problem." They drove in silence for a minute before Dave burst out, "I'm sorry!"

"For what, exactly?"

"For dragging you into danger. Again. Shit, Kurt, you finally had a normal life. Then, like, the _second_ I come back, you're putting your life at risk all over again."

Kurt shook his head. "Guilt doesn't suit you, Dave. It never has. Look, I was in neck-deep the instant I found out about your power, and that was an accident. I'm involved, I always was involved, there's nothing you or I can do about it, so we might as well roll with it. You gave me a break, and I really do appreciate that. But whatever happens, it's a small price to pay for having you back."

"Oh, come on, I can't be worth—"

"You are," Kurt said firmly, "no matter what you were about to say. Don't start slipping back into old thinking now. Besides, it should be _my_ choice, shouldn't it? It is my life, after all."

"I just... I won't blame you if you don't stick with me. With all this... craziness I keep creating. Like you keep telling me, you have to think of yourself every once in a while..." Kurt heard him swallow. "Britt almost died because of me. I don't want to lose you too..."

"But she didn't," Kurt cut in. "And it was Evan who put her in danger, not you. _You_ saved her. Don't blame yourself for something he did. And I know what you're thinking."

"What's that, O great one?"

"Well, forget it. If you try ditching me 'for my own good,' I'll raise such a stink that they'll smell it from _Pluto_. Then, once I've pulled your fat out of the fire, I'll kill you myself for being such an utter _moron_. You leave me in the lurch, you'll rue the day you were born, Karofsky. _Rue_. Do we understand each other?"

"I..." Dave sighed. "Yes."

"Good!" Kurt said sweetly. "Look at it this way, Dave: the more I know, the better I can protect myself. And as you well know, I've always believed in being proactive."

"Yeah. I just... I hate being a obstacle to your dreams and everything..."

"You? You think _you're_ a obstacle to _my_ dreams?" Kurt laughed. "I've fought against personal and professional disappointments of a hundred kinds, including homophobia and effeminophobia so deep it's practically institutionalized, and you think a little telekinesis is getting in my way? Trust me, Dave, my dreams are up to me, and they'll be just fine, thank you, as long as they're mine. If I can't multitask between pursuing the stage and helping a friend with psychic gifts, I'd hardly be cut out for the rigors of Broadway. So just let me make my own choices, and everything will be fine."

"Okay." The answer was more immediate than Kurt had expected. "I owe you so much, I'll give you that. Just... promise me you won't take any stupid chances for my sake."

"As long as you promise not to take stupid chances for mine."

"Deal."

"I'd demand we shake on it, but you need to drive. We need to meet Matt as soon as possible."

As it turned out, it took them a lot longer than expected, thanks to late night road repairs. By the time they pulled into the Holiday Inn, it was just past 1 in the morning. Kurt had tried to call Matt again while they were stuck in traffic, but still no answer. But Kurt wasn't worried... Not until they knocked on Matt's room door and got no answer.

"Lemme try." Dave pounded on the door so hard that the entire wall seemed to shake.

"Oh, so the big strong jock needs to break it down?" Kurt asked snarkily.

"Hey, Matt might be like my dad. He could sleep through a tornado." There was still silence on the other side of the door. "We should try his room phone. Maybe that'll wake him up."

Kurt looked around. "Don't see a house phone anywhere."

"Then let's go to the front desk."

"Good idea." They went back down to the lobby; the same desk clerk was there. "Hi..." Kurt leaned over the counter and squinted at the girl's name tag. "... Cassandra. I'd like to place a call to Matt Rutherford's room."

"Oh, he's not in."

The declaration was so casual that it took Kurt's mind a moment to process it. "Not... in? This late?"

"I saw him leave about... fifteen minutes ago? You should try his friend."

Kurt whirled to Dave; he was pale. He swallowed back a lump in his throat and turned back to Cassandra. "Can you describe this... friend?"

The clerk frowned. "Well, he was tall, skinny... He had black hair, with a beard and a mustache..."

Kurt's palms felt clammy. "What did... What did he do?"

The clerk shrugged. "He asked me if Mr. Rutherford was staying here. He said he was a friend of a friend — someone named Dave Kar... Something? I don't quite remember." Kurt didn't have to turn around to know what he'd probably see on his friend's face. "It was a little weird, though; he didn't want to give his name. Anyway, he asked me to call the room and tell him that Dave whoever needed to see him. I called Mr. Rutherford, and he came down. They talked for a little while, and then left together. You really should ask this Dave guy where they are."

"I'll... I'll do that. Thanks."

"No problem!" she said cheerfully. "Have a good night!"

The night air felt particularly cold as they stepped out of the front doors.

"This is not good," Dave said.

"Tell me about it."

"You think he _knows_ about Matt? Or is he just some kind of bargaining chip?"

"I don't know, but we have to assume the worst."

"No problem there."

They were halfway towards their parking spot when a black SUV tore into the lot and screeched to a halt in front of them, barely missing Kurt's toes. The two young men jumped back as the passenger side window rolled down. The driver was Sue Sylvester; Kurt was surprised to realize he wasn't even surprised.

"Get in," she said bluntly. "We need to have that talk now."

Kurt could feel Dave staring at him, but nodded anyway. "All right. But make it quick." He took shotgun, while Dave sat behind. The window rolled up as soon as Kurt was seated; he felt as though he were being sealed into a cell.

The coach got right to the point, as she was wont to do — one of her better traits. "Where's Rutherford?"

"Gone." Kurt knew that there was little point to dissembling or delaying, not when he had no idea what exactly Sue knew and how — especially not when she could possibly be of help again.

"What can he do?"

"He... he can see talents. I mean, he can tell who is a talent just by looking at them."

Sue stared at him; her gaze had not changed or wavered, but he felt the mood in the SUV distinctly shift. "I see." She pulled out a cell phone and jabbed at the screen. "Report," she barked to whoever was on the other end. The two men barely heard a muffled voice reply. "Good. Keep me posted." She cut off the call. "As far as my sources can tell, neither Rutherford or your friend from the Midas Consortium have left Lima. If they try, we'll know."

"What _are_ you?!" Dave exploded. Kurt winced.

Sue fixed him with a baleful glare. "Retired," she said. "Or so I thought. Why do you think I stayed in a flyspeck of a town like Lima in the first place? I thought I was finally done with all this, but there you were, _two_ at my school this entire time..." She shook her head. "Some things follow you, boys, no matter how hard you try to run."

"What the hell are you talking about?" It was Dave's shock speaking; Kurt knew that. It occurred to him that with everything that had happened, they never did discuss what Sue Sylvester did for them both five years ago. But he had a feeling they'd be making time in the near future.

"You really think my mother abandoned me and my sister to hunt _Nazis_?" She shook her head again. "The only way I'm never disappointed is in how much other people disappoint me."

"Look, Coach," Kurt cut in before Dave could express astonishment in yet another way, "you don't have to get involved if you don't want to. Dave's going to call the Agency, and—"

"You do that," Sue snarled, "and you can forget getting any help from me. Hell, I'll help Midas get away with Rutherford if you so much as look in the Agency's direction."

"What?" Now it was Kurt's turn to be astonished at this sudden change. "Why?"

It took Sue a second to reply; when she did, it was in a low, soft voice, filled with ghosts. "Because I've seen what happens to people caught in the crossfire when a turf war gets fought over a talent," she said, her eyes focusing not on Kurt or Dave, but on a past neither of them could see — but one that she obviously could, and all too well. "It's not pretty, for anyone. You've actually probably heard of a few examples, even if you don't know the real story behind them. I swore to myself I'd never let anything like that happen again." Her gaze hardened once more. "And don't deny that there'll be a war. I think we all know what anyone who hears about Rutherford's power will do to get their hands on him. Especially the Cleansers."

"Cleansers?" Kurt repeated.

"They're crazy," Dave said with a visible shudder. "Everybody hates them. They're sorta like Al Qaeda in the talent world."

"They're _exactly_ like Al Qaeda," Sue said bluntly. "They're terrorists. They organize like terrorists, they act like terrorists. They're religious fanatics who think that talents are Satan spawn, and they outright murder any they can ferret out."

Kurt echoed Dave's shudder. "Really? There... there are people like that?"

"Are you kidding, Porcelain? There are 'people like that' in the news every single day. The only difference is who they hate. The only reason they haven't blown the lid off the existence of powers is that they know the rest of the organizations would wipe them out if they did. That, and they want to be the ones who have the 'privilege' of killing 'em all." Kurt felt nauseous.

"Coach?" Dave's interruption was nigh on suicidal, but he obviously didn't think about the possible consequences. "I just thought of something. What if the rest of Midas already knows about Matt? What if they're already on their way here?"

"Then we're all screwed already, and you can call in whoever you want. But make sure you _know_ before you try."

"And what can you do for us that the Agency can't?" Kurt asked.

"I have infrastructure already on the ground," Sue replied. "I know the terrain; I won't have to waste precious time gathering resources or getting the lay of the land. Hell, I've already started wheels turning."

"How did you know to do all this? I thought you said you were... retired?"

Sue Sylvester snorted. "Yeah, retired, not _dead_ , not yet. I still keep my ear to the ground. It's a matter of survival — my own." She sighed, wiping a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "I'll make a deal with you two. You want to call in the Agency and wait for them to show up while Rutherford slips further out of your reach? If that's what you think you need to do, be my guest. But I'll tell you both right now: he's still in Lima, and you still have a chance to find him, save your own bacon, and keep the casualties to a minimum in the bargain — if you do things _my_ way."

"Casualties to a minimum"... Was it the words, or the flat, clinical way in which Sue Sylvester said them, as if she'd contemplated such matters a hundred times before, that made Kurt shiver? He wasn't sure.

The two young men locked eyes over the SUV's seat. Kurt had no idea what Dave was thinking, but he had to imagine they were considering many of the same things — one of the principals had to be, "Does Sue Sylvester know what she's doing?"

Kurt knew that she'd known about Dave during their senior year. She knew about at least some of the factions at play, and she'd actually cared (if indeed Sue Sylvester was capable of what normal human beings called "caring") enough to tell Kurt about Brody and the Agency. So she certainly had the _knowledge_ , but...

"Okay." Kurt started; he himself was leaning towards that answer anyway, but Dave had somehow beaten him to it. "We'll go along for now. But if things start getting out of hand..."

"One of our primary objectives is going to be _keeping_ things from 'getting out of hand,'" Sue said contemptuously.

"What about our friends and family?" Kurt demanded. "If the Midas Consortium took Matt..."

"I've got that covered. You won't see my people, but they'll be watching as best they can. But thanks to Berry's reunion idea, I can't keep an eye on everyone. I'll have them concentrate on your families. The others... Well, I'll do what I can, but you'll have to pick up the rest of the slack."

Kurt exhaled. "I guess... I guess that's acceptable. For now."

"All right, then. I'll make a few calls, see what I can find out. You two cool your heels for now; let your Midas recruiter think he's got all the cards for a little while. I'll be in touch." Silence. "Well? Get out. I've got a busy night ahead."

Kurt and Dave jumped out of the SUV, and watched it burn rubber out of the parking lot. It was only then that it occurred to Kurt that the shock had caused him to completely forget that he had that license plate number.

That made him realize that they had no idea how to get in touch with Sue Sylvester before _she_ was ready to talk to them.

"What did we just get into?" Dave asked, staring after the diminishing red pinpoints of light.

"I'm not a hundred percent sure," Kurt said in the same dazed voice.

* * *

Kurt's sleep that night was fitful. He was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted from the events of the day, yet the unanswered questions weighed on his soul like an anvil. He only knew he managed to get some sleep from the vague images from his dreams that penetrated his waking mind: Matt begging for help, Evan laughing like some old-timey silent movie villain, Sue Sylvester in a hooded cloak raising a wavy-bladed dagger over Dave, tied to an altar in the middle of a bloody pentagram...

He actually remained in bed long after his usual start to his day — a sure sign of the stress he'd already undergone, and that was still ahead. By the time he dragged himself downstairs, the rest of his family was already finishing breakfast.

"Well, look who was up late," Burt Hummel said teasingly. "Being back in Lima makes you feel like a kid again, huh?"

"Something like that," Kurt said with a small half-smile as he blearily poured himself a glass of orange juice.

"Got big plans for today?" Carole asked. "I hope you'll have time to actually visit with us in between reunion activities."

"We'll see. I'll do my best."

"See that you do," his father said. "We haven't gotten to spend a lot of time together lately."

"I know," Kurt said, swallowing his fear and his emotions. "I'll do what I can, I promise." The sting of lying to the people he loved returned after many long years. He hadn't missed it at all.

He and Dave met at the abandoned barn in which they did training in high school. It was still standing, and its isolation was perfect for a quiet conversation out of the reach of prying eyes and ears.

"You heard anything from Sylvester yet?" Dave asked as they entered the old wooden shell.

"Not yet," Kurt replied. "There's not much we can do on our own if we can't call the Agency. I suggest we return to the reunion and pretend everything's normal until she contacts us. We'll need every second of rest we can muster by the time this is all over."

"Yeah, I can see that. I'm just not sure how much waiting and pretending I can take."

"I think you can take a lot more than you think," Kurt said quietly. "I always have. You were strong before you went away, but now... I truly believe you can handle anything life throws your way from here on in. You're over the hump, Dave; it's all downhill from here."

Dave laughed. "Shit, don't say that, Kurt! You're fucking tempting fate here! I thought you were smarter than that!"

"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about," Kurt said with a grin. "No smart aleck self-effacing remark this time. That proves you've learned. That proves you've grown up a lot."

Dave bowed his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think you're exaggerating a little. Besides, it's been five fucking years; I think we've _both_ grown up a lot, don't you?"

"Well, I suppose, but how does that change anything I said? I'm happy for you, Dave. I really am." Maybe if he repeated those words enough, he'd forget that twinge he felt on first hearing about everything that happened to Dave in the base — that unwelcome, unreasonable flash of impulsive anger and jealousy because "Dave doesn't need me anymore." How the hell could he be upset that his friend had achieved exactly what he'd hoped he would all along? It was idiotic. It was completely unworthy of him and Dave both. He was a better man than that — he knew it. He'd just have to start acting like it, goddammit.

"Thanks."

They sat for a while, drinking in the silence and isolation, knowing it would probably be a long while before they'd get the opportunity again.

"Dave?"

"Hm?"

"What was Jesús like?"

The question was another impulse. He hadn't wanted to cause Dave pain; he just wanted to know. After all, one can tell a lot about a man by the people he chose to love, and Dave hadn't said much about him except the fact of his existence, that he was a healer, and the reason for their separation. Kurt was about to hastily tell Dave to forget about it, that he hadn't meant to drag up painful memories, that he could just ignore the question, when Dave actually answered.

"He was a lot like you in a lot of ways, actually. Smart. Driven. Compassionate. That's what I'll always remember about him: his compassion. He wanted to heal the whole world, and... I could understand that. He had such a huge heart, and that's one of the big reasons I loved him."

"You still miss him." It was a statement, not a question.

"Of course I do. He was my first real boyfriend. But he's pursuing his dreams, so I'm happy for him. Besides, it's been over two years since we separated, and the last thing he said to me was that he wanted me to move on. So I tried to. It was hard at first, but I think I finally did, once I decided what I wanted to do with the rest of my life."

"Field counseling. Sounds like you have that in common with Jesús: compassion. Even if it is for reasons that are completely unjustified."

"Shut up!" Dave said with a smirk. "But you're right about one thing: I'm sick of making people miserable. If I could give back a fraction of what you gave me, that would make all the shit that's happened to me worthwhile. I'd feel like the sacrifices you made for me actually _did_ something."

"I told you, I think they already have."

"For _you_ , I mean. I'm glad you've been free to go after your dreams."

"Ah... I sense a connection with Jesús there."

"Yeah... I guess so. I've never wanted to be a burden on anyone, ever. You know that. I've never wanted to be the reason someone else couldn't do and be everything they wanted. Like I said, I did that, for way too long, and there's not a day that goes by that I don't regret that."

"There's the guilt again."

"Yeah, I suppose, but it's more than that now. That's another thing I owe you." Dave looked Kurt straight in the eye. "You taught me I could be a better man. You showed me that I was capable of being someone who could do good for the world."

Kurt couldn't resist. "In other words... a superhero?"

Dave roared with laughter. "Yeah, I suppose. That's one thing I've realized: maybe being a superhero isn't so bad."

Kurt nodded absently; that was just one of the more overt-yet-minor ways in which Dave had changed — matured — in five years. But then, was it a change, or was it there all along, and they were just too caught up in the stresses of training and dealing with telekinesis for him to see it? That was something that Kurt had been wondering a lot in the past weeks. It was certainly true that he wasn't looking — _couldn't_ look — at Dave the same way he did when they were alone and desperate to keep his powers under control. Part of it was the absence, part of it was the changes both of them had undergone in five years. It was like everything else since Dave had gotten out: familiar yet foreign.

He had to admit that he was looking forward to rediscovering Dave for the first time. Did he have enough to offer in return? He hoped so.

"What the fuck is up with that guy?" Dave asked out of the blue, breaking into Kurt's thoughts.

"Who?"

"Evan. Did he really think any of what he said would work on me? If so, he's the worst fucking recruiter on the face of the planet."

"I don't know," Kurt said, "his 'rich beyond your wildest dreams' and 'you're better than everyone else' spiel probably works more often than not."

"I kinda find that hard to believe."

"That's because not everyone is as goodhearted as you, Dave." He was mostly serious, but deliberately spoke with just a smidgen of humor; Dave chuckled. "And not everyone's had a friend to share the burden of being a talent with. I'm sure some even had their loved ones add to the burden. So I wouldn't be surprised if what he said to you did the job a lot of the time."

"Huh," Dave said thoughtfully, "you're probably right. Didn't think of it that way." He paused for a moment in consideration. "That's the kind of thing I'll be trying to fight against, isn't it? As a field counselor, I mean."

"Most likely."

"That's... kinda fucking terrifying, actually."

"That's what your education is for: to prepare you for that, and for people like Evan."

"Yeah. It's still scary, though. If it hadn't been for you and the Agency, that's what I might've ended up becoming..."

"I doubt it. The only commonality I see between you two is your power. Even if the Midas Consortium had found you first, I doubt you would've ended up like him."

"Yeah, I probably would've been dead first."

"That's a distinct possibility," Kurt admitted quietly. "Because you're someone they can't manipulate through their money and prestige. You already demonstrated that to Evan."

"What the fuck good does money do me?" Dave harrumphed. "It sure as fuck can't give me what I really want."

Kurt didn't ask Dave the details of what he truly wanted. That would be for later. "Come on," he said, easing himself to his feet with a wince; they'd been sitting for quite a while, and his legs were starting to cramp a little. "If we don't go to the reunion, Rachel will probably send the National Guard out to look for us."

"Kurt?"

He stopped cold. "Yes?"

There was just silence in reply. Then: "Never mind. You're right, we should get to the reunion."

"Wait just a second, you can't do that to me!"

"I promise, it's nothing serious."

"That does exactly nothing to ease my curiosity, you know!"

"Okay, okay, fine, I'll tell you later, I promise. Just... give me a little time to think about how I want to say this."

The answer was very honest — more honest than Kurt was expecting, actually. He wasn't sure what to feel about that. "All right, then. I'll wait. But with absolutely no patience, you hear me?"

"So what else is new?" Dave said with a roll of his eyes. He chuckled as Kurt punched him in the arm.

* * *

The big event of the daytime portion of the New Directions reunion was a film: a documentary put together by Artie of the early history of the award winning glee club that turned McKinley High School for the Performing Arts into the institution it was today. Seeing so many fond memories up on the big screen actually made Kurt a little misty-eyed. He found himself mouthing music along with his sophomore self like some kind of modern Norma Desmond; he might have found it pathetic had he not been so lost in his nostalgia.

"You're too young to be longing for the good old days," Dave teased after the film, as the group gathered for a light catered lunch and pats on the back for Artie.

"I've always thought of myself as wise beyond my years," Kurt replied airily. "Besides, just because I like my life doesn't mean I can't also look back fondly on equally good times in the past."

"Yeah. When life was a lot simpler." The words had an edge to them, but only slightly. _Good, Dave._

"Perhaps, but as I keep telling you, even those... complications brought their own good, so I accept that. No regrets, David. Make that your mantra."

Before Dave could reply, Santana stalked up to them. "What's going on?" she asked in a low voice.

The plastic cup in Kurt's hands creaked under his tightened grip. "What do you mean?" he asked evenly.

"I mean, I've known you two for way too long, and something's up."

Kurt immediately grabbed her wrist and dragged her into the hallway, Dave in hot pursuit. Santana cursed, but didn't resist; nevertheless, he _knew_ he'd be paying for it later. Once they were alone in an empty corner of McKinley's halls, Kurt spoke again. "I don't know what you're thinking, but—"

"Look, I'm not fucking stupid. You two have shown me there's a _lot_ in the world that I just didn't know before now, and that both of you are up to your armpits in whatever shit is out there. So excuse me if I've gotten a little paranoid now that my entire fucking sense of what's real has been destroyed."

"Be that as it may—"

"Hey! Little Miss Muppet! Did I say I was finished?" She fixed Kurt with a dirty glare that sent chills up his spine, but he met her gaze with as much strength and as neutral a look as he could muster. He did still have his pride, after all. After a long minute of this rather silly staring contest (during which Dave watched them both with a mixture of fear and nervousness), Santana finally continued. "You two are doing a good job at hiding it, but you're both jumpier than a caffeinated Cheerio. Come to think of it," she said thoughtfully, "you two were with Matt a lot yesterday. Pretty weird, considering neither of you were really close to him in high school. And now he's not here..."

Kurt had Sue Sylvester flashbacks. It was, frankly, more than a little scary. Sylvester, he already knew had inside information. But Santana? Ignorant until days ago, and then, through pure observation...? Then again, Santana always had a keen eye, especially for the weaknesses of others, and he couldn't deny that recent revelations had given her a lot of reason to watch both him and Dave more closely. Speaking of Dave... Kurt glanced over, but he looked discombobulated, tongue-tied. Not surprising; he and Santana always did have sort of a weird relationship.

Of course, which one of Dave's relationships was completely normal?

"Look," Santana said, and now Kurt's ears perked. It was weird, hearing Santana talk without either hostility or sarcasm in her voice. On the rare occasions it did happen, she was talking to or about Brittany. But now... "If something's... _happened_ to Matt, I want to help."

"You? Want to help?"

To Kurt's surprise, she didn't so much as blink at his clear skepticism or his unspoken implications about her. But then, she always did own up to exactly what sort of person she was. "Yeah, I do," she said simply. "I owe you. I owe you both. If it weren't for you two, Britt might not be alive. My baby might not be alive."

"San..." Dave began, but stopped when Kurt laid a gentle hand on his arm. He knew what Dave was about to tell her, and although he agreed that she'd probably find out eventually, now wasn't the time to tell her either.

After all, if and when Santana found out who was actually responsible for putting Brittany in danger, not even Sue Sylvester would be able to stop her from going all out to take bloody vengeance, and a loose cannon was the last thing they needed right now.

"I don't know if you remember," Santana said, "but Matt and I dated for a while back in high school. He was a good guy. If he's in some kind of trouble, I want to help him."

"Man, you've gone soft." Kurt bristled at Dave's words, but he shouldn't have; Santana immediately slipped back into the easy, confident smirk he was used to. Though he always thought that Santana could use a little more humanity, he had to admit that this "new" her was starting to become a little uncomfortable.

"Oh, you do _not_ want to see how 'soft' I've gotten, _mi amor de a mentiras_. Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, I'm involved now — was the second that car went into the river. I owe you guys a debt, and I _always_ pay my debts. And I kinda owe Matt too." There was an old story there — Kurt was certain of that. But he was equally certain he'd probably never find out what it was, at least not from her.

"This could be dangerous, San," Dave said. "As in 'you might never get to see your baby' dangerous."

Santana's face remained as hard as marble. "I spent four years training under Sue Sylvester. I think I know a little about danger. Besides, I'm doing this for Britt and my baby. To make sure they stay safe. Because I got a feeling that whatever you're in to, it could swallow this entire fucking town if it's not fixed quick."

"What makes you say that?" Kurt asked nervously.

Santana sneered in contempt. "I told you, Hummel, I'm not stupid. Telekinetic." She poked a finger onto the center of Dave's forehead and pushed; he actually staggered back a step. "I've seen the movies. I've watched this on TV. That kind of shit _always_ blows up. So." She crossed her arms. "What do you need me to do?"

Dave and Kurt glanced at each other. They just seemed to be picking up one hanger-on after another (although neither was stupid enough to call either Sue Sylvester or Santana that to their face). Unlike Coach Sylvester, Kurt was less confident that she could be of direct use to their investigation. But like Coach Sylvester, he knew she wouldn't be taking "no" for an answer, and was by far more dangerous as an enemy.

Dave just nodded silently. Well, if Dave, who probably knew the real Santana better than almost anyone besides Brittany, was willing, he wasn't sure he had much choice other than to trust that.

"Matt is missing," he said. "We think he's been kidnapped. We've met the man we think has him, and we need to find him before he makes his next move."

"Anything to go on?"

"I have a license plate number." Kurt held out a hand to his side; Dave's phone immediately fell into it. He called up the note he made and showed it to Santana. "It belongs to the guy we're looking for. If I remember right, the license plate frame said that it was a rental car from Enterprise. I don't know if you know anyone who can—"

Santana immediately snatched her phone out of her purse and dialed a number. Kurt wanted to ask her what she was doing, but the words wouldn't come. "Maddie? This is Santana. I'm calling in that favor." She snatched Dave's phone out of Kurt's hand. "I need you to find one of your company's cars. I could use a name, but what I really need is a location. I want you to use the GPS tracker to—" She paused, listening. "I don't care about confidentiality or passwords or any of that bullshit. I _know_ you can pull that info. Now, if you're telling me you don't _want_ to do it... That's what I thought. Here's the license plate number." She read it off. "So just work whatever magic you have to. Call in whatever favors you need to, but I need that info. Yeah, I'll hold." She covered the phone as she addressed the gaping Kurt and Dave. "Former Cheerio," she said. "Works for Enterprise here in Lima. Owes me big time." She examined her nails, humming a tune to herself, while her so-called friends stared in stupefaction. After a few minutes, she perked back up. "Yeah, I'm still here. Where is it? Uh huh. Uh huh. And who rented it? Okay. Good girl. Consider us even. Bye." She closed the connection and turned coolly to the still gaping men.

"Well..." Kurt said weakly, "that was... convenient."

Santana shrugged. "Hey, I was trained by the best. One of her biggest lessons was to make connections, any kind of connection. You never know when they'll pay off. Just enjoy it, Sparkles; life sucks too much to not appreciate it when it actually goes your way for once."

"So what did she say?" Dave asked. "Where's the car?"

"I'll tell you... once I'm sure you're going to let me in on this. Otherwise, forget getting one fucking word out of me."

Kurt sighed. "Okay. All right. Fine. You win."

"Again," Santana said smugly.

"I just hope you don't regret winning."

"Let me worry about that. Okay..." She began tapping on her phone's screen. "The car was rented under the name Evan Dunbar, but if he's some kind of spy, it's probably fake. He paid for it with a fancy high limit credit card. As for his current location... Let me see if I can get this... Good. Here's the GPS coordinates she gave me. Obviously, he won't be there forever, but it's something." She held out her phone to Kurt and Dave, showing them a map with a small red dot on it. Simultaneously, both Kurt and Dave leaned towards the screen, squinting.

"Hmm," Kurt said. "Yeah, I actually know that area. It—" He gasped. "Oh my god."

"What?" Dave asked.

"That's... that's a junkyard. My dad knows the owner. He's the son of the guy who owned the junkyard in New Jersey we used to go to."

"So? What's the problem?"

"This." He zoomed out the map view, and tapped his finger on a building within a direct sight line of the junkyard.

Hummel Tires and Lube.

"Son of a—" Dave spat. "He's watching your dad? Then he has to know you're my friend..."

"We've got to get down there." Kurt's heart was starting to pound hard. "We have to—"

"Whoa, whoa, ease up," Santana interrupted. "You're gonna just charge over there in the middle of the day? After lecturing me about being careful?"

"But it's my _dad_ , I have to—"

"She's right, Kurt," Dave said. "It's too risky."

"You're only saying that because it's not _your_ father whose life is in danger," Kurt spat. He'd apologize for that later. But not now.

"He's thinking about _you_ , you asshole," Santana hissed. "And your father, and me, and yes, himself. If we try to go after him now, he'll spot us coming a mile away. And if shit gets out of control, people will get _hurt_. Maybe even your dad."

The words were starting to penetrate his panic. "Fine, so what _do_ we do?"

"Sylvester has folks watching your dad, remember?" Dave said in a tone that he figured was supposed to be soothing, but utterly failed. "We'll stake out the place. Once it's dark, _then_ we go in. He's less likely to see us, and fewer people around. If he leaves, we follow him."

 _No, no, no,_ some part of Kurt's mind screamed, _we have to go_ now _, we have to warn Dad, we..._ But Kurt's rational side was slowly starting to take hold. "I... I still don't like it," he said as evenly as he could.

"But it's what we're going to do," Santana said flatly. "I'll go; that fancy car of yours sucks for covert ops. You guys keep an eye on Britt and make sure she gets home when the party's over. I'll call if anything happens."

Kurt opened his mouth to object, but felt Dave's hands clamp down on his shoulders. "Sounds good," his voice said behind Kurt's head. "Thanks."

Santana nodded to them and walked off. Dave gently steered Kurt into following her, the contact strangling any words Kurt could hope to form. As they passed by the auditorium, its doors burst open, letting out floods of light and air conditioned chill and chatter. "There you are!" Rachel cried. "Hurry, we're about to start our Circle of Memories!"

"Pass," Santana said in a bored voice. "I'm going out."

"What?!" Rachel screeched. "You're leaving the reunion? Leaving _Brittany_?"

"Hey, she's actually having fun. More power to her. Keep your bra on; I'll be back later."

"But where are you _going_?"

"I've got things to do. See ya."

"But San—!" Rachel watched helplessly (as even she knew that any attempt to get Santana to turn around, verbally or physically, would result in ego bruising at best and skin bruising at worst) as Santana disappeared down the hall. "The _nerve_ of her!" she huffed. Then her eyes lighted upon Kurt and Dave; she broke out into a manic look that immediately made them both wince. "But _you're_ still here! My dear friends!" She grabbed onto their arms, her nails digging into their flesh. "Come on, you two! The reunion can't be a success without you!"

"Do you think she did that on purpose?" Dave muttered in Kurt's ear.

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"Hurry up, hurry up! After the Circle, I have this idea for a Charades game where all the answers are songs we did in New Directions!"

"I'd rather be on stakeout."

"Me too."

* * *

Somehow, they managed to make it through the rest of the day with minds and souls intact. Hell, it wasn't _all_ bad; Rachel's enthusiasm and obvious love for her old group actually sometimes overcame the sheer headslapping lameness of her ideas. Kurt actually found himself sometimes having — dare he say it? — fun catching up with old friends he hadn't seen in person for ages.

With everything he had to worry about, he took his refuge where and when he could.

The current portion of the festivities ended at around sunset, which was convenient timing. The next event was a family-style dinner at Breadstix, but Kurt and Dave begged off.

"You too?!" Rachel demanded. "It's bad enough that Santana still isn't back—"

"I want to see my actual family for a little while," Kurt said with a groan. "We still have tomorrow."

"Dave!" Rachel said with a hint of desperation. "Dave, you're coming to dinner with us, right?!"

"Yeah, c'mon, man," Sam said warmly. "We wanna catch up before you end up going out of the country again."

Dave ducked his head. "Sorry, guys, Rachel," he said with a smile that contained a weird mix of embarrassment, disbelief, and relief. _Oh, Dave,_ Kurt thought, _did you_ really _forget how many friends you made in New Directions? Shame on you._ "My dad wants to catch up just as bad as you do. But I swear, I'll make it up before the weekend's over. Sugar, do you mind taking Britt home after dinner? Thanks."

Rachel pouted, but there really wasn't much she could do. "I'd better see you both at the karaoke contest tomorrow!" she said warningly.

Kurt just rolled his eyes and led Dave out of the auditorium. The sky was streaked with gorgeous shades of red and orange. Normally, Kurt would've drunk in the sight, especially here, where there were many fewer skyscrapers to blot out the view, but right now, all it reminded him of was a rapidly encroaching deadline.

"Has Santana called you?"

"No. Nothing from Coach Sylvester, either. So everything's okay so far."

"Or Santana's disappeared too," Kurt said sourly. It wasn't like him to be pessimistic, but it _was_ like him to be cynical, and he had plenty of reason to let that side out at the moment.

"You want me to call her?"

"Yeah. Let her know we're on our way."

It was fortunate for Kurt that he asked Dave to call; he'd need his voice later that night, when he was screaming, even if no one could hear.

"Okay. You can drive if you want while I call."

Kurt immediately perked up. "Can I?!"

"Sure, why not. I can throw you a bone every once in a while."

It was fortunate for Dave that he asked Kurt to drive; he'd need his strength later that night, when he was pushing his telekinesis to its limits against someone with much more training and finesse.

He tossed the keys towards Kurt, who plucked them out of the air. "Then you'd better hurry up, before I get carried away and leave you behind."

"Relax, Kurt," Dave said as he slid into the passenger seat. "We're playing it cool, right? If we're lucky, we could follow him straight to wherever he's keeping Matt."

"Yeah," Kurt repeated softly as he started up the Fury. "If we're lucky."

With the grinding of gravel under the tires, the car pulled away, vanishing into the encroaching dark.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long; family obligations + sinus infection when family obligations end + one part of this chapter just being a bitch = slow writing.

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief the instant he heard Dave say, "Hey, San. Everything okay?" He allowed himself to concentrate on the road (just in case any more cars were telekinetically shoved into their lane again) for a while, only snapping back to attention after Dave hung up.

"She's still there," he said. "No movement yet."

"Good. Hopefully that means we weren't too late."

Dave's phone went off again; Kurt's jangled nerves did as well, but he managed to catch himself before he launched himself through the car roof. Dave picked up. "Hello? Oh, yeah, I do, hi." Kurt itched to ask, but forced himself to remain silent. "Yeah... Uh huh... Okay. Yeah. Thanks for letting us know. What? Uh, sure... I'll tell Kurt. Bye."

"Well?" Kurt ground out as soon as the call was terminated.

"That was Detective Vincent. He said they found the car that ran you off the road."

"And?"

"College kid was driving. Said he had no idea why he swerved into your lane — it was like the car just did it all by itself," Dave said grimly. "Not sure if Detective Vincent believes him, but he's holding the guy, since either way, he left the scene of an accident without stopping." That was true; it certainly assuaged some of Kurt's guilt at not being able to reveal that the incident wasn't the driver's fault. "He wants to talk with us as soon as we have time."

"Why? Sounds like he has everything he needs."

"I don't know. He didn't say."

"Well, I don't know when we'll have time," Kurt said, trying not to think of the possibility of the police coming after them — whether innocently or not. "We've got our hands a little full right now." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dave nod in agreement.

Night had fallen about half an hour previous when the Fury pulled into the long closed Hummel Tires and Lube. Dave looked at Kurt questioningly.

"We can't just pull up next to Santana," Kurt said patiently. "Like she said, your car attracts attention. What if Evan spots it?"

Dave reddened. "Of course. Yeah. I should've thought of that."

"Don't be hard on yourself. I'm sure that given time and training, you'll be as sly and deceitful as we are."

"Can't wait," Dave said dryly as they got out.

It was a bit of a hike, but they were soon walking up towards Santana's dark and silent car. As they approached, Kurt began measuring his steps, ducking his head down out of the harsh glare of the streetlights. Behind him, Dave followed suit. They crouched by the passenger side door; Kurt could only barely make out Santana's silhouette slumped in the front seat.

"Took you long enough," her voice hissed from within. Kurt and Dave yanked open the two car doors and slipped in.

"Anything?" Kurt asked, squinting over Santana towards the junkyard gates. Apart from a few scattered lights, it too was draped in long shadows, most formed by the piles of twisted automotive wreckage silently rusting beyond a pair of chained-shut mesh fences.

"Nothing. If he's still there, he's laying pretty low."

"'If'?" Dave asked.

"Yeah, well, seeing as how he's a fucking telekinetic..." Santana paused. "God, what the fuck happened to my life? I never thought I'd be saying anything like that, except maybe in the middle of a bad acid trip."

"Sometimes I wonder the same thing," Kurt muttered under his breath.

"Anyway, seeing as how he's a fucking telekinetic, he _could_ have slipped out without me seeing him, but I don't think so. I haven't given him any reason to, at least." She fingered a small pair of binoculars in her lap; Kurt chose not to ask when and where she'd gotten them.

"I'm going in." Both Kurt and Santana whirled around towards Dave.

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm maybe the only person who's safe from him. It's me he wants, remember? He wants me to come with him willingly, so he won't hurt me. He needs me to make the sweet fat bank."

In any other circumstance, Kurt would've chuckled, or at least raised an eyebrow, at the random string of urban lingo. But not now. Not when his heart was stopping all over again. "I'm coming with you." He didn't even think before he said it, but once he did, he couldn't muster the slightest ounce of regret for it.

"No."

"I'm not taking that as an answer, David. I never have."

"I shouldn't have let you follow me to the meet-up. No, Kurt. I'll lock you in this car before I let you put yourself in danger."

"Hey! Keep your hands— mind off my car!" Santana snapped. Neither man paid her the least attention.

"See, Dave, those are the operative words: 'let me'. You don't 'let me' do anything. You never have."

"This is insane! We don't know what this guy is capable of!"

"Like you said, he wants you to come with him willingly, so he won't kill me."

"What if he kidnaps you like he did Matt?"

"What if he tries to kidnap _you_?"

"I can handle myself."

"And so can I! Handle myself, I mean."

Dave opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a piercing whistle that filled the cramped confines of the car. Santana drew her fingers out of her mouth before she spoke. "Okay, I'm stopping this right now, because I can see where this is going, and I'm already sick of it. Kurt, Dave's right, you going with him is incredibly stupid. Dave, Kurt's right, you going in alone is incredibly stupid."

There was silence.

"Meaning...?" Dave said tentatively.

"Meaning, if you're going to do something incredibly stupid no matter what, you need to break the tie _somehow_ , and it's up to me... of course. I'm already assuming I can't get you two to just go home and forget about all this, so Dave, do you think for one second that you're gonna be able to keep Kurt out of this without either hurting him or doing something that'll make him hate you for the rest of your miserable existence?"

There was silence again.

Dave sighed. "No."

"Then it's settled. I'll keep watch out here. Call or text me if you need me to call the cops or bail or something. There. Argument over."

Kurt and Dave looked at each other for a long minute, then, simultaneously, shrugged.

"... Okay," Dave said. Kurt wondered if he shared the feeling of helplessly being pulled along by a tide.

The two gingerly slunk out of the car, sticking to the shadows as they made their way to the gates. One glance from Dave, and the padlock holding them closed snapped open. Kurt loosened the chains just enough to allow them entry.

The night sky was clear, but washed out by spotlights dotting the perimeter. Kurt shuddered, imagining eyes watching from every dead headlight and smashed window. "Remember how I said that the guy who owned the junkyard in New Jersey used to own this place?" he said quietly. "My dad still deals with his son for parts."

"So you know your way around?"

"Kind of. He might've shuffled things around since the last time I was here." There was a muffled barking somewhere within the vast premises. "Huh, that's Maddox. Strange; he should be patrolling."

"That may mean Evan's still here," Dave said. "Let's see if we can find him before he finds us. If we can catch him by surprise, we may be able to force him to tell us where he's keeping Matt." He threw Kurt a glare. "Stick close to me. I can protect us from whatever Evan might try to do to us, but only if you're close."

Kurt nodded. "Got it."

The two wended their way through a towering, glowering labyrinth of twisted metal. Kurt's foot kicked at a rusted bolt, sending it skittering into a car with a clang. Both men froze, but no sound met their ears but that persistent bark.

"How big is this place, anyway?" Dave asked.

"Big. Evan could be anywhere."

"Then we'd better hope he doesn't know we're here."

"We have to get lucky _sometime_ , right?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Dave chuckled; it was surprisingly less bitter than Kurt would've thought. "Kurt?"

"Yes?"

"... Never mind."

Kurt sighed. "I would've thought that you'd know by now that you never need to censor yourself around anyone, Dave — least of all me."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, it's just that this isn't exactly the time to talk about what I want to talk about."

"Then I won't let you take another step until you promise that you'll tell me what you want to tell me when it _is_ a better time."

"... Yeah. Okay, I will. I promise."

"Good. And I know you can keep your promises now, so I'll just wait for that time to come."

"'Now'?" Dave asked with mock umbrage. "Since when have I ever been anything but completely trustworthy?"

"Oh, you do _not_ want to go there, Karofsky. Or should I be reminding you of that so-called 'prank' you and Finn pulled on me the summer after graduation?"

"Oh, shit, you still hold a grudge for that? I thought you got your revenge during Christmas."

"No, no, that was for you taking those photos of me in the elf outfit. I still haven't gotten even for the prank. I just haven't come up with a suitably humiliating punishment yet."

"Fuck, I thought you were my friend, Kurt? You _want_ me to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for the shoe to drop?"

"It's your own fault. You deserve it for 'borrowing' my car and filling it with—"

A shadow fell over them, blotting out the harsh perimeter lighting. It grew larger and larger; Kurt felt a breeze tussle his hair.

" _Kurt!_ " Dave waved his arm, and the battered old car (a '95 Caprice, some distant part of Kurt's brain noted) that had been hurtling towards them veered to the right, crashing to the ground in a cacophony of groaning metal and splintering glass.

"Oh, is that you, Dave?" Evan's voice seemed to echo from all around them, bouncing off the automotive walls surrounding them. "Sorry about that; you took me by surprise. So Kurt Hummel is with you...?"

"What the fuck was that?!" Dave demanded. He gestured at Kurt as they spoke; he sidled along the aisle of cars, but why this way? Evan couldn't possibly be this way... right?

"I apologized, didn't I?" the voice said, still not sounding at all sorry. "I thought you might've been one of _them_."

"'Them'?" Dave peeked his head around a corner as he spoke; Kurt followed suit. Still no sign of the other telekinetic. He searched his memories of this place, and they told him nothing good. They could search for hours and not even see a glimpse of Evan, provided he was suitably careful.

"They're subtle, I'll give them that, but I could tell they were sitting on your house and the Hummel garage. I didn't recognize them, though, and I _hate_ unknowns." The voice turned cold and dark with those last words; Kurt had little doubt that this was possibly the first sincere truth he'd ever heard Evan say. "Who are they, Dave? What kind of dogs have you called on me?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Kurt couldn't help but be a little proud at how evenly and calmly Dave lied this time. Perhaps it was helped by their shared contempt for the man they were lying to — or covering for Sue Sylvester provided additional motivation. "Anyway, why don't your buddies at Midas tell you?"

"It's not smart to depend too much on the home office once you're in a position of trust." Kurt whirled; the voice seemed to jump behind them in those few seconds. Then again, it was difficult to get any kind of bead on where the source was to begin with. "They like us to be independent. Besides, I know a lot about the other players out there..." Now _there_ was something Kurt dearly wanted to interrogate him on. "... And I didn't recognize any of these people or their style. What the hell are you up to?"

"I repeat: I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Maybe you can start answering questions instead of asking them."

"I don't see how you're in a position to demand anything of—"

"If you don't want to," Dave growled in a voice that sent shudders through Kurt's stomach, echoing distant memories of years past, when he didn't know Dave — only the false, hollow shell he put in front of the world, "I bet I can _make_ you."

This time, Evan didn't respond immediately. When his voice returned, it once again sounded like it came from yet another place entirely. "I see. Nothing personal, then, but I think you need to be taught a lesson: about what Midas is capable of. About what I'm capable of. About what _you're_ capable of, if you joined us."

"What the fuck are you—" The rest of his sentence was drowned out by creaking steel, as an entire stack of cars teetered towards them. Dave threw up his hands, and the motion of the collapsing mountain of metal was arrested immediately, as if time itself caught its breath. Instinctively, Kurt skittered out from under the frozen arch of steel; Dave gestured, and the pile neatly righted itself.

"It's not just money Midas can give you," Evan's voice continued. "What they've taught me, about my power, about myself... I would've joined them for that alone." There was a heavy pause that Kurt could almost feel before he spoke again. "I was lost, for a long time, Dave. I thought I was alone. Midas showed me otherwise. They gave me something nobody and nothing else could: self-respect. A place in the world. A _reason_."

It was jarring, to think of a mercenary organization like Midas being a pillar of support for someone, but it made sense, upon second thought. As Evan himself had said, talents were their most valuable resource, and giving something to confused and lonely souls who often came from nothing was just a good investment. Besides, even the smallest crumb could be a feast to a starving man.

"Where is he?" Kurt hissed towards Dave.

"I can't tell!" Dave's voice was tight with tension and frustration. "He knows I can feel his power, and he knows he actually has to use it before I can do that, so he's just sending shit out in short bursts. He's always switched off before I can get a read on where he is!"

Various metal parts around them suddenly rose into the air and hurtled towards them, deadly accurate, as if drawn by magnetism. They were quickly and easily deflected, but that didn't make Kurt feel any better. Dave undoubtedly felt the same.

"We can't just be reactive," Kurt whispered. "I'm going to try to find him."

"What?!" Dave's voice nearly rose to a shout; it took obvious effort for him to settle back into a hoarse whisper. "Are you fucking insane? If you go off on your own, I can't protect you! I won't be able to sense if Evan—"

"Yeah? What if Evan decides he's tired of toying with you? With us? I've always believed in being proactive—"

"I know." There were a lot of shades to those two simple words. Dave's eyes didn't move from Kurt's, not for a second, not even when a radiator fan sped towards their heads, then rather comically flew off in a way that reminded Kurt of UFO effects in bad movies. "He's not gonna hurt me, remember? He needs me."

"And you think he cares at all what happens to me? _I_ would feel a lot better doing something to try to get out of this instead of just waiting him out."

"But what can you—?" The question died in Dave's throat, which was fortunate for him, because Kurt would've torn it out had he completed it.

"We're in a bad spot," he said as calmly (almost coldly) as he could, noting with approval that Dave was still able to deflect a flurry of loose bolts even as he stared with wide eyes and pale cheeks. "So I will excuse that question as being ill thought out in the heat of the moment. Besides, I'm sure Evan is thinking the same thing, which will give me an edge."

"Okay, then, what _will_ you do?"

"I'm... honestly not sure yet," he admitted with heat in his face. His itch to _do_ something had gotten ahead of his planning. Maybe if it weren't for the flying debris, Evan's taunts carrying on the wind, that damn dog barking, he could _think_ —

Oh. Of course.

"Okay," Kurt said, his voice low, "I've got an idea. Keep an ear out."

"For what?"

"You'll know it when you hear it."

"Kurt—!"

But Kurt, still practically crawling on his hands and knees, was already halfway down the aisle. He heard more crashing behind him, and held back the fear pounding in his chest. Dave could handle himself, he thought; that was the entire _point_. Hopefully all that noise meant that Evan was still keeping his attention on his fellow telekinetic, which would allow Kurt to do what he needed to do...

The barking grew louder in his ears. He was hoping his luck would hold out, and now he knew that it had.

Maddox was a massive dog, a chocolate brown pit bull mix. Evan had not harmed him, nor locked him away somewhere unfamiliar, but kept him in his pen. The door was wrapped with chain, the padlock firmly closed. At the sight of Kurt, the dog's eyes widened, and a pink tongue dipped in and out (reminding Kurt rather foolishly of Dave). A happy woof replaced the barking.

"Hey, boy," Kurt said, sticking his fingers through the mesh fencing and stroking Maddox's head the best he could. "How're you?" He laughed as a rough tongue licked his fingertips. "Sorry, no jerky tonight. Maybe tomorrow, if you do a little favor for me..."

First problem: the pen. Fortunately, he was surrounded by potential tools. Trying his best to ignore the continued distant clanging and crashing, Kurt found a long thin piece of metal and wedged it into the loop of the padlock. He strained and grunted as he pulled on his makeshift lever, thanking all the nonexistent gods in their pantheons that he'd kept himself in reasonable shape. Just as his efforts felt like they'd be futile, the padlock flew off the chains with a metallic ring.

Heaving a victorious sigh, he threaded the chains off the fence door and threw it open. As he'd hoped, Maddox darted out of his pen like a torpedo, the savage barking once again echoing off the metal maze around them. Kurt followed, reminding him of the games he and Maddox used to play when Maddox was a mere puppy.

The man who used to own this place once told Kurt, "When it comes to security, there's nobody I'd trust more than a junkyard dog." Kurt hoped that trust was justified.

He carefully kept just behind the dog, waiting for him to round corners before doing the same. There hadn't been any other sounds since he let Maddox out, so he felt able to tread cautiously. Finally, Maddox disappeared around a bend, and in the next moment: "What th—?" Growling and snapping emanated from the other side of the bend. "Hey! Ow! Stop—! Motherfuck—!"

As Kurt had hoped, Evan had been taken by surprise — from the sounds of the struggle, he was stopped in his tracks ("He's specially trained to immobilize. Friend of mine who works with police dogs owed me a favor." God, if Mr. Harding ever knew what his seemingly random life decisions did for Kurt and Dave over and over again...).

But it couldn't last — didn't last. The snapping and snarling broke off into a high, startled yelp.

"Maddox!" It was pure instinct. All Kurt could think of was that sweet little puppy... He dashed around the bend. Evan was half-kneeling on the ground, panting and sweating. A whine came from above; Kurt looked up to see Maddox perched on an empty shell of a Nissan at the very top of a metallic pile. The dog whimpered, sitting flat onto the hood, looking nervously down at Kurt from the dizzying height.

Kurt had barely enough time to breathe a sigh of relief that Maddox was at least alive when Dave appeared at the opposite end of the aisle. "Kurt—!" Well, at least his plan worked; the whole point was to keep Evan occupied and make enough noise that Dave could find him. Now maybe they could fight on even terms...

He forgot that Evan wasn't a big believer in playing fair.

What followed happened fast — God, it happened _so_ fast. Dave had told him, warned him, but he wouldn't have believed it. He hadn't seen what had happened at the gym with his own eyes, after all; surely Dave must've been exaggerating just a _little_.

But no. It really _was_ that fast — fast enough that he had to calmly think it through later to remember exactly what had been done with him. Had Evan just been toying with them the entire time? He shuddered to even consider it.

What happened was this: Evan's telekinesis grabbed Kurt and swept him right off his feet. The trunk of a junked Taurus swung open and swallowed Kurt whole like Jonah's whale, the lid slamming shut on him with a dull clang. To Kurt, the world around him whizzed past, flip-flopping in a stomach churning blur. The wind was knocked out of him when he felt the rough upholstery slam roughly against his back. Then the lights went out.

He heard, rather than saw, what came next: cars piling up around and atop the Taurus, all at once in an avalanche of metal. The end of a broken axle punched through the trunk lid; it stopped nowhere near Kurt's face, but he screamed nonetheless. The bare lines of light admitted by the ill-fitting lid was cut off, as was all sound. There was only darkness. There was only his heart pulsing in his ears.

"H-help..." The word was hoarse, almost whisper quiet. Then the adrenaline rushed in, the panic. " _Help_!" He shoved at the lid above him. It did not give a single millimeter. He pounded on it, the metallic ringing at least breaking the stifling silence. Nothing. "Dave! Somebody! Help!"

His fear was primal, born of instincts steeped into mankind's DNA from its earliest days. Claustrophobia squeezed at his throat. The oxygen shouldn't be depleting _that_ fast, could it? But he was fetal with panic, almost on the edge of hyperventilating, what if _that_ was using up all the air? Could any get in through all the cars?

He was buried alive. Oh, God, he was literally buried alive.

Even through his panic, rational thoughts flitted in and out. _Dave is out there. He can get me out._ But they were countered by ones like _So why hasn't he already? What if Evan's done something to him? How long has it been? It has to be longer than five minutes, right? Why hasn't he_ done _anything yet? Oh god I'm running out of air...  
_

Tears stung his eyes. The pounding of his ball-tight fists became weaker and weaker... But was it out of dwindling air or dwindling hope?

"Please... Somebody, please... Help..."

_I'm so sorry, Dad..._

He didn't hear it at first, not over his own gasps and sobs. But the volume quickly reached a level where he couldn't help but hear: the crashing of metal. It was distant at first, but grew steadily louder and closer. A voice, similarly muffled, became comprehensible second by second.

"Kurt? Kurt!"

"Dave?!" He began pounding on the trunk lid with renewed vigor, so hard that his fists ached. "Dave! I'm in here!"

"Kurt!" The crashing and creaking continued to crescendo, until pulses of sound ricocheted about the cramped trunk. Kurt had to cover his ears.

"Dave!" he managed to scream.

With sharp snaps, the trunk lid ripped itself open. Light washed over Kurt's face; he had to squeeze his eyes tightly against the dazzle. "Oh, God, Kurt..." He felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him, felt himself being lifted gently out of the trunk, felt himself being squeezed in a tight embrace. "Kurt... Thank God, thank God, I was so fucking scared, Kurt, Kurt..."

Dave's voice was jagged, broken. Kurt finally managed to open his eyes. Dave's face was streaked with tears, his lip trembling, his fingers clutching at Kurt's shirt as if afraid that letting go would cause him to dissipate on the wind. All around them were haphazard stacks of cars, tossed desperately aside, surrounding the single Taurus — a bare, calm island in the middle of a sea of chaos.

Kurt's arms hung limply at his sides. He was simply too drained emotionally to take the barest action. So the two stood there; it couldn't have been longer than ten minutes, but it felt like hours. Kurt needed every second of that time, no matter how short or long it was, to come back to himself, regain rational thought, will his heartbeat to regain its usual rhythm.

When he was finally ready to face the world again, he spoke — at normal volume, at first, but quickly ratcheting it down to a near whisper when he realized his lips were so close to Dave's right ear. "I'm okay, Dave," he said. He heard no response, except muffled chokes and Dave's hands clutching at his back. "Dave?" Still nothing. "Dave..." he said gently, "we should get out of here in case someone heard us and called the police."

"Oh." Finally, the hands and arms relaxed, and Kurt gently extricated himself from the embrace. "I... Yeah." He wiped his face on his sleeve and helped Kurt step out of the trunk. "Just a sec." The scattered cars quickly and quietly cleaned themselves up, stacking back atop each other. It took only seconds for the scene to look perfectly normal, as if no one had been put into mortal danger just minutes before. It was almost eerie, the normalcy.

Kurt started to shakily make his way out of the alley (where he'd almost died — or at least felt like he almost died), when high pitched whines stopped him short. "Oh, God, I forgot... Dave?"

"Huh?" Kurt pointed upwards. "Oh, sure." With another startled yelp, Maddox levitated off his aerial perch and gently lowered to the ground. A fangy smile broke out on his muzzle as soon as his paws touched _terra firma_. Dave knelt at the dog's side and held out a hand. Maddox cautiously sniffed it, then licked it. Dave chuckled, scratching behind the dog's ears. "You okay, boy?" he asked softly. Maddox responded by kneading his head against Dave's hand.

"That means 'you're my hero,'" Kurt said with a smile. "He's not the only one who thinks that." He blinked; he hadn't meant to say it, not that way, but now that he did... Why not? It was true.

Dave, to his credit, didn't try to deflect. In fact, he said and did nothing for a moment, except rub Maddox's back. "Yeah, well... I'm glad I was able to do for you even a fraction of what you've done for me." He rose to his feet. "But don't think for a second that we're even."

"Let's have this conversation later." Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was fighting to stave off yawns. "We need to figure out our next move."

"Yeah." The two young men walked rapidly towards the gate, Maddox bounding after them every step of the way. The dog whined in disappointment when they carefully chained the gate closed behind them.

"Sorry, Maddox," Kurt said, bending down to give him one final scratch. "I'll come back with a nice juicy piece of meat before I go home, okay?" With that, he and Dave approached Santana's car.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded as they came into view, getting out from behind the wheel. "It sounded like you were having a demolition derby in there!"

"Did you see anybody leave?" Kurt asked, cutting off words that were starting to form on Santana's lips. She glared at him for his temerity.

"No. Haven't even gotten a glimpse of this Evan guy."

Dave cursed under his breath. "Must've left another way. Probably the same way he got in. With his power, that wouldn't have been any kind of problem."

"And we still haven't gotten any answers from him."

"So what the hell happened?" Santana asked.

"Too much." Dave turned to Kurt, a dead serious look on his face. "Kurt, you should go home. Let me handle the rest alone."

Truth be told, he'd been expecting this. "No."

"Kurt, I'm serious. You almost _died_."

"What?!" Santana yelped. Neither of the others heard her.

"It was only luck Evan didn't bother to kill you," Dave continued insistently.

Santana's face darkened. "He did _what_? Okay, I am _definitely_ all in on finding this asshole."

"Which is all the more reason for me to continue," Kurt said. "He knows about me now. He's known about me for a while, obviously. The closer I stick with you, the better protected I am."

"You should be keeping an eye on your parents..."

"I don't think he'd be that indirect, going after _my_ loved ones to get to _you_. Besides, the more help you have, the faster we can nail that son of a bitch and the faster _everybody_ is safe."

"Kurt, please! This is completely fucking reckless! There's no need for you to be involved!"

"And as I keep telling you, it's much too late for that."

"If anything happened to you—!"

"It wouldn't be your fault."

It was funny — there they were, arguing, yet Kurt didn't feel the least bit upset or wound up. In fact, a chilly, almost detached calm had descended upon him. Maybe he was in shock from his close call? Or maybe the burgeoning anger he had towards Evan was starting to take over? Either way, it was as though he were just watching the scene unfold, instead of actually participating in it.

"I'd never forgive myself if you got hurt!"

"You're not my keeper, Dave. Nothing that happens to me would be your responsibility."

"But it's _me_ he's after...!"

"I know that. Do you think preventing me from helping one of my best friends will do anybody any good?"

"God-fucking-dammit, Kurt, I can't just stand here and let you put your life at risk! I _love_ you! I won't—!"

It took a moment for the words to sink in, even for Dave.

Everybody froze — Dave, Santana, Kurt — as surely as if they were sprayed with liquid nitrogen. Of the three, Kurt figured he was the calmest — still that weird detachment. Or maybe this somewhat uncomfortable fact was in the back of his mind all this time, ever since Dave came back? Yes, that was it. He'd been expecting this shoe to drop for weeks. Yes, even after Dave had told him about Jesús; since when was life, especially theirs, that simple? Or love for that matter... Kurt knew as well as anyone how _easy_ dealing with the heart was.

Dave himself was living proof, even back in high school.

"I..." Dave shrank — almost physically, almost visibly — horror blooming on his face. "Oh, fuck, Kurt, I'm—"

"Okay," Santana interrupted, grabbing Dave's arm and yanking him towards the car, "where did you guys park?"

"Back near Kurt's dad's shop, but—"

"I'll drive you two back there. Then you two should check up on your folks."

Dave still looked dazed, as if he were being pulled out to sea by a wave. "But Matt—"

"If this guy saw the both of you, they might be in danger," Santana cut in again. "If that's obvious to me, it's probably pretty obvious to you... and him."

"But Coach Sylvester—"

"What about her?" She shook her head. "Never mind. You two need to make sure your parents are okay so you can get your heads screwed on straight. That means no talking about the completely awkward thing that just happened until you both get a chance to simmer down." She paused, regarding them both. "What do you think?"

"I—"

"I think," Kurt said with a throat that was just a little bit tight, "you're right, as much as it pains me to admit it."

Dave turned to him. "Kurt, I—"

"It's okay, Dave. I swear. But I agree that we both need a little time to think, and to make sure Evan hasn't moved in on any of our loved ones. We'll check in with each other about an hour, okay?"

"But—"

"I know what you want to say," Kurt interrupted. "But given what just happened, and the emotional state everybody's in right now, do you really think this is the right time to have this talk? Or that we'll be able to effectively search for Evan the way we are right now?"

"I..." Dave exhaled. "No."

"Me neither. Besides, we need to think of a new plan of attack now that Evan's in the wind again. Worse comes to worse, we either find Coach Sylvester..." Once again Santana stirred at the mere mention of the name. "... Or wait until Santana's friend can try to look up Evan's location again. There's nothing we can do right at this moment, so it'll be better for both of us if we catch our breath and make sure our families are okay. Agreed?"

It took a moment of silence and stillness, but Dave finally nodded. "Agreed. I'll drive you to—"

"Uh uh," Santana cut in. "That is _not_ a fucking break. That is a long awkward silent drive, with you trying to keep yourself from saying something stupid every other second. No. _I_ will take Kurt home. Then we'll meet up and figure out where we go from here. Ah!" She waved a finger in Dave's face just as he opened his mouth. "No more 'buts'! This isn't the time to be talking about your ass fetish! Your dad's the one who's in real trouble, remember? You _do_ care about him, right?" Kurt bristled for Dave, but Dave himself responded only with a silent nod. "Then get your butt over there! Use some of your Agency black ops shit or whatever to make sure he's safe." Silence. Stillness. Again. "Well? Come on! Evan could be going to your house right now!"

Dave visibly shook himself. "Right. You're right. I'll be thinking about Dad all night if I don't do something. I have something a friend gave me that should help keep him safe long enough for us to figure things out. Let's go."

The trio climbed into Santana's car and took the short ride back to Hummel Tires and Lube, pulling up alongside the Fury. The car, and its occupants, sat there, the rumbling of the engine the only sound. Santana turned and glared at Dave. Slowly, reluctantly, he got out of the car and approached his. Abruptly, he turned back. "Kurt—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Santana groaned. "I'm with him. _I'll_ make sure nobody touches a hair on his twinkly little head, okay? And if you so much as _hint_ that I'm not up to the job, I'll knee you in the crotch. You two have plenty of time to work out this little soap opera you've got going _after_ the bad guys are put away. God, all these years training to be a Man in Black, and _I_ have to be telling you this? Grow some balls, Karofsky, and do what you fucking have to for once!"

Neither man so much as raised an eyebrow through any of this; they'd known Santana long enough to have heard much worse from her, no matter what her mood. Dave just nodded again. "Okay. I— We're counting on you, San." With less hesitation than Kurt had expected, Dave got into his car and drove off. Santana waited until his lights disappeared into the gloom, then pulled out in the opposite direction.

It didn't take long for Kurt to break the ensuing silence. "You know your reasons for us separating were a little weak."

Santana shrugged. "Maybe, but it worked, didn't it? And the fact that it _did_ work on Dave should tell you something." And it did. "I've been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he blew back into town, you know."

"Hoping for fireworks?" Kurt snarked.

"Of course I was. But once I found out about the telekinesis thing, and Matt, I'd hoped it'd wait until after everything calmed down. But that poor brokenhearted gorilla just couldn't wait."

"I guess... I guess I was expecting it too. But I'd kind of hoped..." Was "hoped" the right word? Kurt wasn't sure, but he was too weary to try to think of a better one. "... that him having had a serious boyfriend would resolve the issue..."

Santana snorted. "You really think people can only ever love one person at a time?" She paused, a faraway look on her face. "I loved Dani," she said quietly. "Or at least, I could have. I cared a lot about her, either way. Otherwise I wouldn't have dated her, especially not with Brittany—" She shook her head. "Besides, you remember high school. 90% of the crappy drama we went through was _because_ someone couldn't be in love with just one person." She had somewhat of a point, but Kurt wasn't about to say that out loud. "So what about you?"

The question was a little vague, but context told him all he needed to know her meaning. Besides, he'd been musing on it himself for quite a bit. "I... I don't know. He's still as much a friend to me as he ever was. I care about him a lot."

"But?"

"But at the same time... we've been apart for five years. We've both done and changed so much... Or at least he has anyway..."

"Oh, you're fucking shitting me," Santana said with more than a note of disgust in her voice. "What do you think Dave would say if he heard you say that? Okay, fine, he'd probably start blubbering and blaming himself for what you think, but that still doesn't mean it's any less stupid."

And of course he knew that intellectually, but he was hardly the only person on the planet whose impulsive emotions interfered with what his intellect told him. "I just... He's been training in a vast top secret facility. He's a _telekinetic_..."

"He's _Dave_. You're you. Would you be whining like this if he was a professional hockey player, or if he'd made a fortune on Wall Street?"

"Well, no, I don't think so, not as much, but it's hardly the same—"

"And did you think this while the two of you were training together?"

"... No, not really, not a lot. But that's because—"

"That's because you _saw_ with your own eyes how much his life fucking sucked because he had powers. You and I both know that Dave has — or had or whatever — the self esteem of a sea slug. You really think he wouldn't trade away his powers in a heartbeat for a normal life like yours, even now? Or that he thinks that all the shit he went through was _really_ worth it? Or that he would've made it at all if he hadn't had the incredible luck of knowing the most insanely compassionate human being on Earth?" The questions were rhetorical, Kurt knew; they both had known Dave long enough to know what the answers would be. "Hell, one of the big reasons I was waiting for this to happen is because it's been so fucking clear to me, ever since high school, that Dave worships the ground you walk on. And now that I know what you two were up to behind my back, it makes that much more fucking sense." They stopped at a red light; Santana turned to face him. "So you can't move things with your mind. Big deal. Neither can I, and look how awesome I am. Dave would be the first to tell you that having powers doesn't make him any less pathetic." And indeed he had, Kurt remembered... Though not exactly in the way Santana expressed it. She turned back to the road as the light turned green, but her voice remained as firm as ever. "If you wanna make a difference without telekinesis, you'll do it. You've always been stupidly ambitious. You and Rachel are like two peas in a fucking pod that way."

"I should be insulted," Kurt chuckled (and god, did it feel good).

"You should. _I'm_ insulted that I'm even having to say any of this in the first place, but it's my duty as a friend to set you straight, because God knows somebody has to. You wanna give up because you'll never do everything the awesome telekinetic can do, be my guest; it doesn't matter to me either way. But then you'll break Dave's fucking heart — even more than you already have, I mean. And for what? You can't hit a hockey puck or do differential equations worth a shit either, and _that_ hasn't stopped you." She honked her horn at a slow car ahead, startling him. "It also hasn't stopped you for sticking your neck out when any sane person would've run away years ago."

"I could say the same of you," Kurt said with a small grin. He'd already known everything she was saying — had for years. But it was nice to be reminded, sometimes, by a reasonably objective (objectionable?) party, and it wasn't like Santana would _ever_ pussyfoot to spare his feelings.

"Like I said, I'm paying a debt. You're just in this because you're a huge softy." Santana paused as she made a right turn. "So you were saying before?"

"What?" It took Kurt a moment to remember. "Oh, right. We've been apart for five years, and we've _both_ done and changed so much... And we've only been back in each other's life for a few weeks. I hardly think that's enough time to get to know each other again."

"So do you? Want to get to know him again, I mean?"

"Of course."

"And if Dave still loves you after all that?"

Kurt sighed. "I can't think about that right now. It's too much..."

"I'm not hearing 'no,' though."

"You're not." He sighed again. "I mean... Some of the reasons I rejected him back in high school aren't there anymore. He's independent now — or at least he has others he can turn to when he needs it. He can control his powers. He's got a direction in life..."

"Which means...?"

"I don't know," Kurt admitted softly. "This... _we're_ complicated. There's so much to deal with, practical and emotional..."

"I'm not hearing 'no,' though," Santana repeated.

"Okay, fine," Kurt said in irritation, "you want to hear that I could possibly conceive returning Dave's feelings? Yes, I can. There's a lot of good in him that I've admired and liked ever since high school. That's always been true." Some of those qualities, some of those times, flitted into his head; his chest felt warm with nostalgia — and maybe something else, but he didn't want to think about it right now. "And now that those obstacles are gone, yes, I can see those, and him, in a different light. But I'm not sure I'm ready for that. Hell, I don't even know when Dave's going to have to go back to that base of his..."

"Eh, I think you can do better than him," Santana said; fortunately, she didn't wait for him to reply, because he had _no_ idea how he could respond that wouldn't, at the least, give Santana blackmail material for the rest of their lives. "But even with his psychic powers..." She groaned softly. "Fuck, I'm never going to used to that. Anyway, even with his psychic powers and creepy black ops training, he's still the same Dave we got to know back in high school in a lot of ways — and you're a big reason why we got to know that Dave to begin with. So you should know best whether you think you'll ever be able to return his feelings. Because I think he deserves to know if you still can't."

She was right about that, which was just the cherry on top of the very complicated sundae. But how could he tell Dave, when he didn't even know himself? There was just too much going on, too much at stake, too little time... But...

"You're right. I'm going to have to deal with it sooner or later. I promise I'll think about it... when I can. But I'll be able to do that a lot better when we find Matt and stop Evan from taking Dave away."

"You've got that right. God, if I ever get my hands on him, I'll—" Kurt would never know what sort of bloody and painful revenge fantasy Santana had in mind; she was interrupted by the flashing red and blue lights piercing the back window of the car. "Shit!"

"Terrific," Kurt drawled sarcastically. "We've had a _great_ night so far. Why not a speeding ticket too?"

"Hey, _I'm_ the one who's going to have to pay it. I didn't even think I was... Fuck!" She muttered words in Spanish under her breath as she pulled over; the lights followed. "Look, I'm gonna need your help. Make sure I don't bite the cop's head off. I don't want to spend the night in jail."

"Got it."

Santana continued to grumble as she rolled down her window. As the cold night wind seeped in, Kurt could hear the car behind them grind to a stop. A door opened, and footsteps approached. Santana undid the first two buttons on her blouse; Kurt rolled his eyes. "Hey," she snapped with a glare, "it's worked before, so why the hell not? Way I see it, it's their fault for thinking with their dicks." A figure, cloaked in shadow, appeared by the window. "Hello, officer," Santana said in a polite tone that only sounded completely insincere to those who knew her. "I'm sorry I—"

The figure bent down, and its face came into view. Both occupants of the car gasped out loud.

"Hey, guys."

Santana was the first to work past the shock. "Wh— What the hell are _you_ —?!"

"Nice to see you too," came the reply, complete with cocky grin. "But I need you two to come with me..."

"Why? Where—?" Santana squinted. "Oh, holy shit, you too?!"

"What do you mean...?" Then the meaning — not to mention the uniform the figure was wearing — penetrated Kurt's mind. "Oh my god..."

"Hey, you think you're surprised? What do you think _I_ thought when my superiors told me why they were sending _me_ out?" The figure peeked into the back of the car. "Where's Dave?"

"You think we're going to tell you that?" Santana snapped.

"What the...? You really think I'd...?" The figure shook its head sadly. "Okay, I know this is all kind of freaky — fine, _really_ freaky — but I swear to God, I'm on your side. I'm not gonna hurt you, and I'm not gonna _let_ anyone hurt you."

"So..." Kurt swallowed, hard. "You actually know...?"

"That Dave's a superhero? Yeah. Look, I can explain everything, but you've gotta trust me. Nothing bad's going to happen to you or Dave, I swear. Just... let me lead you to where my CO can talk with you. That's all he wants to do: talk. And maybe help you guys find the dude you're looking for."

Santana rubbed her eyes. "This is... How the fuck do you know...?"

"Come on, San... I'm your friend, remember? Please... trust me."

Kurt and Santana exchanged a long look.

"You really think...?" Santana said tentatively.

"I think..." Kurt swallowed. He let his mind go blank, let his instincts carry him... And the first impulse they gave him was... "I think we should. If nothing else, it's obvious there's something else going on, and we need to know what. Having an unknown quantity out there is only going to make things worse. And... and I believe it's safe... safe enough." His confidence surged with each word. Yes, this was the right thing to do.

He hoped.

Santana nodded, slowly. "Okay." She turned back to the figure outside as her thumb hit the door lock button. "Get in. But if you don't explain everything right the _fuck_ now..."

Noah Puckerman breathed a sigh of relief. He waved to the car behind them, which got back on the road, then climbed into the back seat. "Hey, you two have a lot to explain to me too. Shit, all this time, Dave was a mutant, and neither of you told me? We could've _ruled_ that school!"

Santana shook her head; Kurt couldn't help but chuckle. "You first," she said.

"Okay, just follow the cop car. I'll fill you in on the way. Hey, I don't suppose either of you have coffee, because man, I've had a long night..."

It was deflection, Puck deliberately attempting to lighten the mood; Kurt knew that as well as anyone. But for perhaps the first time in his life, he couldn't help the guilty feeling: for the first time, having a old friend with him did _not_ make him feel better.

Quite the opposite.


	6. Chapter 6

"So I join the Air Force, right? And I'm doing pretty good. The most important duty I have is being in the band, but that's fine, because I'm learning discipline, and how to depend on myself, so that's cool. Building my muscles, my brain, my self-esteem... It was a hell of a lot more than I did my entire four years at McKinley. Then one day, out of _nowhere_ , my CO calls me into his office and asks, hey, do you want to join the Air Force SF — that's Security Forces. I'd never thought about it before, but he said that if I was up for it, he could call in a couple of favors. I'm wondering why, because I didn't think my career was all that special yet, but I'm not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, so I say, yeah, of course, and before I know it, I'm basically training to be a cop, learning weapons use, martial arts, law... It was rough at first — really rough — but somehow I made it through. I guess all the training I got up to then stuck with me. So I'm just about to graduate when I get called into my CO's office — sounds familiar, right? — where I get a big handshake and my diploma, and immediately get assigned to this weird unit that I'd never heard of."

Kurt stirred in his seat. He was getting a crick in his neck, but he was also unable to keep his eyes off of Puck. Santana kept glancing in the rearview mirror; he had little doubt she was in a similar state.

"From what they told me, they'd been spending months vetting me so they could give me this security clearance that..." Here Puck punctuated his narrative with the "mind blown" hand gesture. "Honestly, with some of the shit I did when I was a kid, I have _no_ idea how I passed, but they give it to me, and I get shipped off to Wright-Patterson, which is what first got me wondering. I mean, of all the places they could've sent me, they sent me back to Ohio? But then things got _really_ weird.

"They're telling me _nothing_ about this unit I'm assigned to; hell, the second I got my orders, they make sure I know that I'm not allowed to tell _anyone_ the truth about my assignment. They give me this complete lie I'm supposed to tell if anyone asks, so that's weird already. But when I get to Wright-Patterson, they basically take me to this back room and start fucking _interrogating_ me. I mean, it was really friendly — I meet with this colonel and we shoot the shit about music and playing high school football, and he gets me a double burger for dinner and all that, but I've been interrogated before, and I _knew_ this was an interrogation. The really wacky thing was, it was all about my friends, and they were especially interested in what I knew about Dave. By now, all my alarm bells are going off, right? But I'm an Air Force man, so I gotta answer a superior officer's questions. Besides, I'm getting really curious, so I go along.

"So after almost a solid week of questions, the colonel tells me that I've got the thumbs up, and that they think they can use me in this unit, and they want to show me what exactly they do. By now, I'm dying of curiosity, so I follow him. That's when..." Puck audibly inhaled. "That's when they showed me."

"Powers," Kurt said quietly.

"It was... it was fucking unbelievable," Puck said in a faraway, almost breathless tone. "One of the other guys in the unit... Name's Justin... I met him when I first got to Wright-Patterson, really nice dude... But he's... he's one of _them_ , and the shit I saw him do..." His eyes glazed over, as if he was experiencing the wonder and awe for the very first time, right then. Kurt couldn't say he didn't understand. "It was... it was almost like I was _awake_ , for the first time... I _knew_ now, and there was no going back to sleep... Not ever..."

Santana's brow furrowed. Later, she'd tell Kurt that she hadn't thought Puck capable of being even that introspective, that philosophical. "It was like my world was turned upside down... again. I _hate_ that feeling. I swear to fucking God, Kurt, if I find out you're a fucking mermaid or something, I'm literally going to strangle you dead."

"So this... unit of yours...?" Kurt said tentatively.

"I'd better let the general tell you about that," Puck replied.

Santana's ears perked. "General?"

"Yeah. The head of my unit. He's waiting for us. In fact..." He leaned forward in his seat. "We're almost there."

It was only now that Kurt looked out the window. He vaguely recognized this place: a strip mall on the outskirts of town. He'd come here once to check out a new consignment store; despite his low expectations, he actually came out of it with a very nice hat at a very nice price. He'd been planning to return, but barely a week later, an... _incident_ in a locker room happened, and, well, he just never got around to it again.

Funny, the circles life could take sometimes.

The police car made its way behind the mall, stopping near one of the back delivery entrances. A hulking male figure got out. Santana parked behind him, but the figure held up an arresting hand. "You'd better wait a minute," Puck's voice said from the back seat, as Kurt's eyes were glued to this imposing sentinel. "Wade needs to do a security check before we can go in."

"He can take as long as he needs," Santana said with the barest tremor in her voice.

Kurt couldn't see what "Wade" was doing; it was too dark outside, and he moved very quickly for such a massive man, circling both cars and their immediate surroundings. Thus, he couldn't see whatever signal he must've given Puck; he only heard his old friend suddenly say, "Okay, we're clear."

The trio emerged from the car; Kurt shivered in the late night chill — okay, fine, nerves was a big part of it, but he was completely justified in that. Wade stood stock still between the two cars, still cloaked in shadow. Puck strode right by him with only a bare nod that was immediately returned; Kurt and Santana slipped by him warily, with as much distance as dignity would allow.

The sign on the door proclaimed that this led to a payday lender franchise. Kurt had to admit, it was a clever cover; it immediately justified the security cameras and complex electronic lock. Puck took a plastic keycard, threaded on a lanyard around his neck, and pressed it against the lock. It beeped harshly. He then punched in a series of at least twelve numbers, so rapidly that Kurt couldn't keep track. The door buzzed; Puck pulled the door open. "Ladies first," he said to Santana with a charming grin that Kurt found soothingly familiar. Santana just rolled her eyes and breezed by without so much as a thank you.

Powered-down florescent lights dimly lit the interior — just enough to see, but not enough to banish all the shadows that cloaked desks, computers, and filing cabinets in an eerie blanket of blue. Puck led them to a large office supply cabinet in a back corner. He held his keycard to its side, and it swiftly and noiselessly swung on hidden hinges, revealing a spiral metal staircase leading downward. "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me," Santana said in a choked voice.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Puck said with a chuckle. "Go on ahead; I have to take up the rear." Kurt was sure there were security protocol reasons for that — protocols he didn't want to think about. Santana turned up her nose and led the way, her shoes rattling the stairs gently with each step. Kurt glanced back at Puck; he nodded towards the stairs. "It's cool, Kurt. Seriously. I've got your back, just like in high school. I promise." Something about the reassurance struck a chord in him; without further trepidation, he followed Santana down into the bowels of the earth.

There were a lot of stairs — a lot more than Kurt expected. He held tightly onto the steel railing all the way down, as if clinging to something tactile, real. Finally, the stairs stopped.

The single room he found himself in was brightly lit and vast, larger than Kurt imagined. Men and women in uniform — not just the Air Force, but the other branches too — bustled about, carrying papers and tablets, skirting rows of workstations and passing by large screen TVs depicting maps and cable news channels and lines upon lines upon lines of tiny text. Not a single person gave the three so much as a glance, so buried were they in their own personal worlds.

"Your tax dollars at work." Santana and Kurt turned as Puck alighted from the final stair.

"This... this is fucking unbelievable," Santana said, gesturing at the controlled chaos behind them. "And in fucking _Lima_ , for God's sake."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot of reasons for that, and I only know some of 'em. What I can tell you is that this is definitely _not_ the only place like this in the country... or in the world."

Kurt turned back to the vista before him, dazed. He wondered how something like this was hidden from the public and local government, though the military being involved probably made that infinitely easier. He wondered if this was what Dave's base looked like.

He wondered, not for the only time, just what he was neck deep in.

"General Peña's waiting for us. Come on."

Santana brightened. "Oh, fellow Latino? At least you guys got competent leadership."

"I wouldn't know; I just met him for the first time yesterday. Seems cool, though. His office is this way." He led them past the workstations, past the screens (Kurt yearned to examine them more closely, but couldn't shake the feeling that devoting more than a passing glance would attract the attention of the people around them; he shuddered at the mental image), to a back corridor riddled with doors. The one at the end was flanked by two brawny guards who stood at attention at Puck's approach. "General's expecting us." The right hand guard nodded, and pushed open the door.

The three stepped into an office, its decor utilitarian but not spartan; Kurt supposed that there had to be practical barriers to interior design when it came to secret underground military bases. The left wall was dominated by another bank of screens, set between diplomas and family photos. A small wooden sideboard stood up against the right wall, topped with a bowl of fragrant lilies — somewhat jarring, but Kurt figured that working underground demanded a little reminder of fresh air and nature. At the back of the room was a large oak desk, with a lamp, laptop computer, and scattered piles of paper.

Sitting behind the desk, working at the laptop, was a bronze skinned man dressed in Air Force dress blues, his coat off and draped over the back of his chair. He had salt and pepper hair, his shoulders were almost as broad as Dave's. His face was lined, but not deeply. He stroked his chin thoughtfully as his eyes, barely visible behind the reflection of the computer screen off his glasses, darted back and forth as he read.

Puck immediately snapped to attention. "Sir!"

The older man looked up. "Ah, Sergeant Puckerman. The intel was accurate, then?" The mere thought of "intel" existing on him sent a chill up Kurt's back.

"Yes, sir! These are Kurt Hummel and Santana Lopez."

"Welcome. I'm General Nathan Peña." He stood and extended a hand, first towards Kurt; he shook, firmly. Whatever he was, whatever this place was, manners always mattered. He shook Santana's hand, then gestured towards a pair of visitor's chairs. Kurt and Santana took one each; Puck remained standing between and behind them. "Do you need anything? Water, coffee...?"

"We're fine," Santana said, and damn if her voice didn't sound a little strained.

"Then let's get to business. I imagine you both must have a lot of questions..."

Kurt was honestly surprised that not a single sarcastic rejoinder, not even a snort, came from Santana's direction, even in these circumstances. "Yes, we do," he said, surprised again — this time at how calm he sounded to his own ears. "If I can ask some...?"

"Of course. That's one reason why you're here."

"Yes, that's just it... the reason we're here. I can't imagine any of this..." He gestured to the room around him in a kind of wonder. "... Is anything less than top secret, but you're allowing us, a couple of civilians..."

The general grimaced. "Yes, this is much more than I would normally be comfortable doing. There are a few reasons, but the main one is, you were vouched for completely by someone I trust implicitly, and she... _recommended_ that I tell you as much truth as I could. She said you knew a lot more than most civilians anyway. And honestly? I, and this country, owe her a lot, more than I can ever repay, so I'm doing her this favor."

Kurt's mind reeled. Could he mean...? But the image that set up of her clashed so badly with what he already knew that it couldn't possibly be...?

What was his life? Find out about _one_ man with psychic powers, and all of a sudden, _floodgates_ opened to all _kinds_ of weirdness.

"I'm not going to ask for your discretion, because I have been assured that I'll have it. I don't think I need to tell you what could happen to you and your friends and family should any leaks occur."

"That... that sounds awfully lot like a threat," Kurt heard a voice say. He was startled to realize it was his own. "Not something I would've expected of a general in the U.S. military towards Americans."

"It's not a threat, I assure you. Just a statement of fact. We may be bound by certain ethical and moral codes, but there are many, many others out there who are... not. And they would go very far to obtain information from those who they know have it. The stakes are that high; I just want to make sure you both understand that."

There was a rustling behind Kurt; Puck was stirring. But he didn't say a word.

"We do." _Oh, God, do we._

"All right, then. We're part of a... Let's just call it a joint task force," Peña continued, "made up of all branches of the military. We have a highly classified mission..."

"Talents," Kurt said.

The general nodded. "Yes — mostly tracking and study. Most members of the military and government have no idea we exist."

"And that's why you're here instead of Wright-Patterson?"

"Exactly. We are known to only very highly placed officials, and we have leave to do things... a little differently than usual protocol. We mostly work independently, but we have been known to ally with other factions from time to time... Especially the one you probably know as the Agency...?" Kurt sat up straight in his chair. "Yes, we know about them... And your, ah, _relationship_ to them... And David Karofsky."

"What do you know about Dave?" Santana was the first to say it; otherwise, Kurt would undoubtedly have been the one. Her voice was a hoarse whisper, an unexpected-yet-not spot of humanity.

"Well, we don't know what he can do, but we do know he's one of them."

"'Them'? He's a human being, just like you and me," Kurt said, umbrage creeping into his tone.

General Peña shook his head with a smile. "I understand what you're saying, young man, but at the same time... I've been dealing with these... individuals much longer than you have. There comes a point when you have to stop thinking of a woman who can cause explosions with a wave of her hand as 'human'."

"So what do you think of the men and women who work under you who have powers?" He could _feel_ Puck's and Santana's disbelieving gazes, without having to see them. _He_ was in disbelief. But he had to say this — he had to. "Are they just weapons to you? No more human than a rifle or an aircraft carrier?"

The general's smile didn't so much as twitch, which just flooded Kurt's stomach with more heat. "I'll thank you to not tell me what I think of the people under my command." Despite his facial expression, the words had a slight but unmistakable rumble, an undercurrent, to them; Kurt couldn't help but feel a stab of triumph. "We are dealing with an extremely delicate situation here, one that takes a lot of effort to keep from completely collapsing. Can you imagine what would happen if the existence of superhuman powers became public? Exploitation, panic, witch hunts? Do you know who the Cleansers are?"

"I do," Kurt said stiffly.

"Then imagine entire _nations_ following their lead. Don't tell me that wouldn't happen, because I think you and I both know that it would. There are days when I think we're barely keeping up the charade. The only reasons we've been as successful as we have been are the relative rarity of talents, preparation, a willingness to work with a wide variety of allies, and, honestly, sheer luck. You may not like what we do and how we think, Mr. Hummel, but it _works_. The fact that those like David Karofsky are able to still walk around breathing is proof."

Through this lecture, a few pieces were sliding together in Kurt's head, and the picture it was starting to reveal was not good.

_"This group that has your friend... They actually approach decency. They're definitely a lot more moral than anyone else with their kind of clout."_

_"W_ _e have been known to ally with other factions from time to time... A willingness to work with a wide variety of allies..."_

"So..." Kurt began, "have you ever worked with a group called the Midas Consortium?"

There was a pregnant pause. Then: "We have been known to collaborate occasionally, yes."

"What?!" Santana screeched, shooting to her feet. Now there was the fire Kurt was expecting. "Why? One of their guys almost _killed_ Kurt tonight!"

"It's called _realpolitik_ ," Peña replied with infuriating calm. "Believe me, I — and everybody else involved in this business — know exactly what kind of people they are and what they're capable of. At the same time... we can't always choose our allies. That's just as true in dealing with talents as it is in international affairs. Probably the _only_ thing that we all agree on is that the Cleansers need to be suppressed at all costs. Other than that... we do what circumstances demand. I don't like it any more than you obviously do, but that's the sort of decisions that need to be made when you're dealing with a delicate balance like this. I wish I didn't have to make them, but somebody has to. I hope you never learn what it's like to have to make choices with lives at stake. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Kurt had a _lot_ he wanted to say to all of that, but decided that this wasn't the time to press. He and Dave needed allies, badly, and it sounded like these people would be good ones to have, even if he did have serious questions about their morals. He'd have to ignore the further implications for now if he wanted to survive.

 _"You realize you just proved the general's point?"_ he thought.

 _"Shut up_ ," he thought back to himself.

"So why did Coach— why were you asked to fill us in?"

"Because she wants us to help you. Now, because of that _realpolitik_ , we can't aid you openly; it'd create too many questions and complications. No one can know that we're involved in this. But we can offer resources, information."

"And... how much do you know about what we're up against?"

"We know that Midas has one of their agents looking to recruit David Karofsky. We also know that your friend Matt Rutherford is also a talent, and is missing. We don't know much else beyond that." Kurt breathed an internal sigh of relief — anything that delayed word spreading of what Matt could do was greatly appreciated. Who knew Coach Sylvester actually had discretion? And used it? "We've had contact with this particular Midas agent in the past. Even his handlers think he's a son of a bitch, but he gets results, so they let it slide. Unfortunately, we don't know where he or Mr. Rutherford are, but we're working on it." Peña let out a sharp exhale. "Look, I'll be honest with you, Mr. Hummel: my main priority is the continuity of my primary mission and the safety of those under my command. We have to keep out of inter-faction conflict as much as possible."

"How very Swiss of you." The words were said before Kurt even thought of them.

"You have your goals, I have mine. Look at it from my point of view: I'm being asked to intervene with a group I need to keep at least mildly cordial relations with on the word of a single person, and I have almost no idea of what stakes are involved. If that single person had been literally _anyone_ else, I would've laughed them out of this office. I'm putting a lot at risk trusting her, and you, so if you can't tell me any more, at least respect my position."

Kurt could see his point. He nodded slowly. "Anything you can do would be appreciated," he said, the words infused with sincere diplomacy honed by years of navigating some of the most outsized egos in the entertainment and fashion industries.

"Well, besides our intel, we can assist in keeping an eye on your families." Kurt breathed another mental sigh of relief. "We'd also like to bring David Karofsky here. I understand he's gone home...?"

Kurt wanted to ask how that understanding was obtained, but he had a feeling he knew. "Yes."

"Then we'll have him brought here at once." Peña rapidly typed into his computer. "It shouldn't take long for him to arrive. Also... Sergeant Puckerman."

"Sir!" The word was crisp, strong, efficient. Kurt caught Santana raise an eyebrow, and he could understand. He'd always heard that the military way of life could change people, but this... This was much more than he'd expected even a shadow unit capable of.

"Stick by both of these people until all this is resolved. Offer whatever aid you can."

Santana gasped. "What the hell can _he_ do?" Kurt looked back; Puck seemed as surprised as they were.

"More than you'd expect," the general said enigmatically. "Anyone assigned to this unit has to be prepared to deal with a... wide variety of situations." Peña leaned back in his plush leather office chair. "It's perfect: the three of you were known to be close in high school, so being together won't raise any eyebrows. And Sergeant Puckerman is relatively new to this unit, so he hasn't yet had any contact with other factions. His very membership is classified, so there's little to connect him back to us."

 _The Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions._ Kurt had no idea where or when he'd heard that, but it was chillingly clear why it'd come to mind at this particular moment.

"Here are your orders, in more detail." Peña handed a manila envelope to Puck. "Otherwise, I'm trusting you to use your best judgment and help your friends as though you were just any other airman on leave."

Puck's eyes lowered to the envelope, then rose back to the general. "Permission to ask a question, sir?"

"Go ahead."

"This... this person who told you about Kurt and Santana... Did she have anything to do with why I was recommended to this unit?" Peña was silent; Puck pressed on. "Or does it have anything to do with me being friends with talents...?"

"You're here," Peña replied, "because I was made aware of a young man with potential, and so far, you've lived up to that potential. Any other questions, Sergeant?"

Kurt was sure it escaped no one that the general had absolutely not answered the question. Nevertheless, it didn't surprise him when Puck simply replied, "No, sir."

"Then take them to see Sergeant Turner. She's been asking for more information, and I think Mr. Hummel and Ms. Lopez can provide what she needs."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Puck gave the general a snappy salute, then turned to Kurt and Santana. "Come on, guys. This way." He led them out of the office, past the humorless guards, then opened one of the doors in the hall. Kurt and Santana entered what looked like a meeting room; there was nobody sitting at the large oval table, nothing on the presentation screens. He frowned in puzzlement as the door clicked shut behind them.

"Puck...?" The two turned; Noah Puckerman was leaning against the door, as if keeping it shut against baying zombie invaders.

"I needed to talk to you guys. This room should be safe... as far as I know."

There were many layers to those words, but Kurt didn't have the time or energy to pursue. Besides, the young Sergeant Puckerman was looking distinctly pale all of a sudden... "Are you okay?"

"Okay? Nah. Honestly, I'm kinda freaked out right now. There's just _so_ much shit happening, it's hard to keep up." Kurt knew extremely well how that felt. "Like General Peña just now. When you asked him what he thought of the talents in this unit. I've only known him a short time, but I've never heard of him talking like that, to anyone. I think you hit a nerve, Kurt."

"Well, excuse me if I don't care. I have enough to worry about without tiptoeing around the _feelings_ of your commanding officer."

Puck wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Look, here's the deal: I didn't find out about Dave and Matt until just yesterday. And now I have an answer — kind of — to why I was asked to join this unit and why I'm back here in Lima, but that just brings up more questions, and..." He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge a flea from his ear. "I need to know the truth. Everything. It's pretty clear that people have been keeping a bunch of shit from me for years, and I don't like it."

"Oh, grow up, _Sergeant_ ," Santana growled. "You're not the only one who was kept in the dark." She glared darkly at Kurt, who pointedly ignored her. "And it was for good reasons."

"I know that, seriously. I really do want to help you guys, but I'll be able to do that better if I know exactly what the hell is going on. What's up with Dave? What's this about Matt being missing?" Kurt and Santana exchanged glances. "It's not...? You two _do_ trust me, right?"

"I... Yes, we do." Even Kurt wasn't sure how much of a lie it was, which brought up waves of guilt within him. Lie or truth, though, it looked increasingly like they didn't have much of a choice but to trust. Damn Peña's _realpolitik_. But then, this was _Puck_ they were talking to here... The same old Puck... Who was now part of a top secret military black ops unit... Goddammit. He sat wearily down at the conference table; Puck and Santana followed suit. "Okay, here's what we know... and what we can tell you."

As quickly and succinctly as he could, Kurt told the whole story. Occasionally, he had to self-censor something he wasn't sure Dave would want the military to know, and every so often, Santana would throw in a sarcastic quip, but somehow, he managed to get the trials and tribulations of eight years down to just about ten minutes. Puck sat through the entire recitation in silence; by the end, he looked frankly dazed.

"Wow... All that shit was going on, and I had no idea..."

"Because we didn't want anyone to know," Kurt said. "I'm sorry we had to keep everyone in the dark, but it was necessary."

"No shit. And Matt...? What exactly is going on with him?"

That was one of the parts Kurt held back. If he'd revealed what Matt's power was, Puck might've felt obligated to report it to his superiors. The odds of Peña doubling his efforts to help them find Matt, or of working secretly to spirit him away themselves, were 50/50 — odds Kurt did not like. "We don't know what, if anything, Evan and Midas know about him. He might just be a bargaining chip. Either way, we need to find him. That's one big reason why we're accepting the general's help."

"Yeah. Speaking of that..." Puck rose, with a confidence and grace that actually made him look every inch like the model military man. "We should do what the general said and talk to Sergeant Turner. She'll get the ball rolling on tracking this guy."

Kurt and Santana also rose. "So..." the former said, "are we good?" Kurt had no idea why he even asked, but the people of New Directions still meant a lot to him. They'd been such a big part of his life, been through so much with him... It was hard, even now, to even think of discarding that.

There was only slight hesitation before Puck nodded. "Yeah. We're good. I'm just glad we're all on the same side, y'know?" He grinned, looking more like the Noah Puckerman of Kurt's memories. "C'mon, let's take down this asshole and find Matt. Together."

"Yeah." Kurt nodded. "Together."

The three went back into the still bustling main room. Puck led them directly to one of the corner desks, where a elfin young woman with short blonde hair and glasses was typing feverishly at a computer. He sat casually on the edge of the desk. "Hey, Olivia."

The woman's head snapped up, and a soft smile came over her face; behind her back, Santana made a gagging gesture. "Oh, Noah! Hi!" Judging by her tone, Kurt had the distinct feeling that if she could've, she would've grabbed a compact to check her makeup.

"Guys, this is Sergeant Olivia Turner, one of the best in the biz when it comes to intel and hacking." She turned in her chair, as if startled to realize that there were other people even nearby. "Olivia, this is Kurt Hummel and Santana Lopez. They're friends of mine from way back."

"Hi," Sgt. Turner said rather breathlessly, giving both of them a quick, loose shake of the hand.

"They'll be able to give you some of that info you needed to track down the Midas guy and find our friend."

"Oh! Great!" She swiveled her chair towards Kurt and Santana, snatching up a notepad from next to her. "I'll need everything you've got: locations where you've encountered the subject, times, _anything_. Believe me, even the smallest detail could help narrow down the search immensely."

"All right..." Over the next ten minutes or so, Kurt and Santana searched their memories, giving as much detail as they could remember about their encounters with Evan, when they'd last seen Matt, and more, including the GPS information Santana had obtained. (Sgt. Turner squealed when this part of the story was revealed. "Ooh, nice! High five!" She held up a hand towards Santana, who stared at it for a moment, then slowly gave the high five, because who wouldn't?) All through their recollections, Sgt. Turner's pen flew over the pages, jotting down numbers and places and times. When she wasn't writing, she was quizzing, probing, digging deeper and deeper into minutiae that Kurt couldn't for the life of him see the relevance of. He knew it was time to stop when he felt like his brain had been physically wrung out. One glance at Santana told him that she was also done. "I think that's all we can tell you," he said wearily.

"Hmm," Turner said thoughtfully, looking over her notes.

"Please tell me that's enough," Santana panted.

"Hopefully. I've got enough to work with for now, anyway." She turned back to her computer and began typing furiously. "Let me start with Matt Rutherford. He's a civilian, so he won't have the protections and expertise a Midas Consortium operative would have." Her fingers flew across the keyboard in almost a blur, lines of type scrolling at a steady pulse. "Hmm," she said again.

"Find anything?" Puck asked, leaning towards the screen, its glow playing over his face.

"Cell phone's turned off, of course. Let me check phone records; that might tell us something about the operative's location... A couple of calls from David Karofsky's number... One from his workplace in Denver... Nothing else in the past few days. Let me try the phone in his hotel room... Nope, no incoming or outgoing calls there... No activity on his social networking sites since this afternoon, nothing jumping out in e-mail, no hits on his credit cards or bank account." She shook her head, even as Kurt wondered just how the hell she was getting access to all this information so quickly. But then, just the room he was in spoke of unimaginably vast resources. He wondered just what tricks were being pulled in Washington DC to hide all these expenditures. Perhaps this would explain a few of the DoD's infamous boondoggles...? "Let's try the operative now. Start with that GPS you used... Damn, nothing. Of course; he probably thought of that after he was found and disabled it. I'll have to dig deeper."

"Can you do that?" Kurt asked. "Safely, I mean?"

Sgt. Turner gave a confident, ruthless grin that somehow seemed foreign on her face. "Of course. But that kind of caution will take some time. Gimme about an hour, and I think I'll have something."

"Great. We're counting on you, Olivia." Kurt had no idea if Puck noticed her blush at these words. An electronic trill sounded; Puck took a smartphone out of his pocket and glanced at it. "Dave's here."

Kurt and Santana were immediately on their feet. "In one piece, I assume," the latter said dryly.

"Of course," Puck said with a somewhat offended and put-upon look that was common when interacting with Santana. "C'mon." The trio returned to the base of the metal stairs. After a few agonizing minutes, they heard heavy footfalls making their way down and down, closer and closer. Then Dave appeared; his eyes were wide with wonder, taking in his surroundings. Then they fell upon the group.

"Oh, thank God." He stepped forward, sweeping both Kurt and Santana into his arms and squeezing them tight.

"Hey!" Santana gasped. "Leggo! You're crushing my fucking boobs!" Somehow, her outrage struck Kurt as less than sincere.

"Heh, sorry." He put them both down.

"Hey, Dave. Long time no see."

Dave did a literal, actual double take seeing who was addressing him. "Puck... So they weren't lying."

"Nope." Kurt couldn't help but wonder for a brief instant what Dave would've done if they had. Probably nothing good. "Hey, my CO wants to talk to you for a minute."

"He... what?"

"We'll catch you up on everything after you talk to him, all right?" Puck waved over a young MP standing nearby. "Keep an eye on my friends while I go see the general. Get 'em anything they need."

"Yes, sir."

"Hold on, hold on... This is going kind of fast for me..." With a rather glazed, dazed look, Dave turned immediately to Kurt; the significance of this did not escape him.

"Go ahead, Dave. We'll wait for you out here."

Slowly, Dave nodded, following Puck towards the general's office. "After this," they heard him say to Puck, "you've got to tell me what the hell is going..." Then they disappeared down the hall. Kurt breathed a heavy sigh. Time passed in uncomfortable silence — how much, he couldn't tell. But as it passed, Santana grew antsier and antsier, her fidgeting growing more pronounced, until finally...

"Well!" she suddenly said with entirely false cheeriness. "This is the weirdest fucking day in my entire life, and it's not even over yet! And I have you and Dave to _thank_ for that."

"You're the one who invited yourself in," Kurt reminded her.

"Details. Okay, so, is there anywhere to get something to eat in this joint?" She addressed this last to the MP. To Kurt's admiration, the stoicism of his profession remained firmly in place, despite his youth and Santana's... forceful personality. Then again, maybe he guessed what Kurt already knew: that most of Santana's current attitude was a front, a way to deal with the madness that had unexpectedly injected itself into her life. He could never condemn anyone for any reaction they had to events like _this_.

"Well, ma'am, our mess hall is closed right now..."

"Of course it is."

"But we do have a break room with some snacks..."

"Then take us there. I'm fucking starving, and Puck— excuse me, _Sergeant Puckerman_ told you to get us anything we needed. I need food. Let's go. Chop-chop."

"Yes, ma'am. This way, please."

"Lucky for him I'm not old enough yet to be offended by 'ma'am,'" Santana muttered under her breath as they followed the MP. Kurt snickered.

The break room was typical of any one of a number of office settings: coffee makers, refrigerator, soda machine, and so on. Santana strode in and snatched a bag of Lay's from a basket. She then examined the soda machine and hit a button. The machine dutifully dispensed a can of Diet Coke. "Thank God; if this thing needed change, I would've just pried it open," she muttered, mostly to herself.

 _I swear to God,_ Kurt thought, _if she starts raiding the fridge, I'm walking out of here and never coming back._ Fortunately for all involved, she didn't; she merely sat at a table with her prizes and began munching. Kurt considered getting some food as well, but no, he was not at all hungry, so he simply sat down across the table from her.

As she ate, she glanced over Kurt's shoulder, at the MP hovering near the door, silently watching them. "So what do you think they're talking about?" she asked in a low voice.

Kurt knew instantly who she was referring to, despite the vagueness. "Probably telling Dave what he told us."

"Think his Agency buddies will get involved now?"

Kurt shook his head. "From what the general told us, he's probably like Coach Sylvester — he'd pull all support if we called them in."

"So... yeah. Coach." Santana licked salt off her fingertips. "You really think she's involved in... all this?"

"I know it's hard to believe, but if I had any doubts before, what the general said shut them all down."

"Hm. Interesting."

Kurt was about to ask her to explain what was so interesting to her when Dave and Puck entered the room. "Oh, there you are," the latter said. Kurt blinked, then looked at his watch; more time had passed than he thought. Then again, he supposed that being in an underground facility was screwing with his sense of time. Dave said the same had happened to him, and he lived in one for five years... "Dave wants to talk with you." And there it was — that shoe had finally dropped. At least the waiting was over.

"Now?" Santana asked skeptically.

"Olivia says she still needs more time," Puck said. "We'd just be cooling our heels until then anyway."

"All right, then..." Kurt said, "let's talk."

"Not here."

"Not... here?"

"I don't feel comfortable talking about this stuff here." That Kurt could definitely understand. "General Peña says we can leave here as long as Puck is with us," came the reply. "And... I'd feel a lot better going forward if I didn't have this conversation hanging over our heads."

"I... I guess I feel the same." Kurt sounded as uncertain as he felt, even to himself. "So where do you want to go?"

"I know a place," was all Dave said. "And so do you." Now that was intriguing... At least his curiosity would likely be satisfied soon enough...

Santana shrugged. "Fine. I'll be here. It's not like I have anywhere else to be." She returned to her potato chips. "I'll just hang out here. You two have your little heart to heart so we can get our heads back in the game."

"You heard the lady," Puck said with a chuckle. "C'mon, I wanna see this car of yours."

And indeed, Puck almost literally drooled on the Fury the instant it came into sight. He leaped into the back seat and whooped as Dave pulled out of the strip mall.

Kurt tried to figure out where Dave was going, but failed. As they drove, Puck quizzed Dave on various high school happenings and his actual life the past five years, which Dave answered cautiously. Kurt wondered exactly what had transpired between the general and Dave, now that the latter was an official Agency operative. Maybe he'd ask once they got... wherever they were going.

It didn't take long — less than fifteen minutes — before Dave pulled off the main road, going down a tree-lined side street.

"Where are we?" Puck asked.

But now, Kurt knew. Despite the darkness, he recognized it. Of course; how could he have forgotten this place was close by?

After all, this was where their friendship took one of its first significant steps forward.

* * *

It was, Kurt recalled, a little over two weeks after that afternoon in the locker room, when his conception of reality shattered for good. Dave had been on edge the entire day, snapping and snarling and acting greatly like Karofsky again. Such behavior deserved an explanation, and he was determined to get one. Given how much he was sacrificing for this boy, he deserved it, didn't he?

Thus he cornered Dave after school, catching him alone in a side hall that had already emptied out for the day.

"What's going on?"

Dave glared. "What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ , you're shoving people around, yelling at them... I thought you were done with that!"

"I haven't done it to you, have I? So what do you care?"

"What do I—! You have to stop it, Dave!"

"What the fuck gives you the right to order me around?"

"I am doing no such thing! I thought you were over this!"

"Yeah, well, maybe that's just who I am!"

"It's not! I know that now!"

Dave slammed a balled fist against a nearby locker, sending an echo pulsing through the hall. Kurt didn't so much as twitch. "What do you know about me? You have no right—!"

"I know a lot more than I used to, that's for sure! What I don't know is why you're... you're _regressing_...!"

"So I'm having a bad day. So what? You gonna just walk out on me now?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, why not?!" Dave shouted.

It was at those words that everything started clicking for Kurt. No wonder the mood had seemed so familiar; it was just like before, right before he... "Dave..." he said, his voice suddenly low and calm, "does this have anything to do with your power?"

Kurt could _see_ the shell of Karofsky shatter from Dave's face. His shoulders slumped; he leaned against the wall. "Just... get away from me, Kurt..." he said in a hoarse whisper. "I don't want to hurt you..."

"That isn't going to work with me anymore, and you know it."

"God, Kurt, it hurts..." Tears leaked from under his squeezed shut eyes. "It always hurts so bad..."

The final pieces fell into place. "You're holding it back, aren't you?" No answer. "Dave, you promised. You promised me you'd try to use your telekinesis..."

"I can't..." He started shaking his head, his body rocking against the wall. "I can't, I can't, I can't... Every time... Every time I have, I've hurt someone or destroyed something... It's _evil_... The power's evil..." His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "I'm evil..."

"Dave, listen to me." The slightest waver shook his voice, to his internal disgust. "Dave, you're not evil. Neither is the power. You just need to control it. But you can't do that if you keep holding it back. You know what happens to you when you do."

"I know but I can't, I can't..."

It was easy for Kurt to make up his mind. He grabbed Dave's arm and started pulling him down the hall; he heard Dave's shoes squeak against the linoleum floor as he stumbled.

"What... what are you doing?"

"My car's right outside."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe."

"S-safe...?"

"I've spent the past week thinking about places like this. Now is as good a time as any to break this one in."

Kurt almost literally had to shove Dave into the passenger seat. Then he got behind the wheel, tapped something into the GPS, and pulled out onto the road. Dave sat, dazed and silent, staring alternately at Kurt and the GPS, when he wasn't groaning low in pain. Kurt, for his part, pretended not to notice, keeping his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. Urban sights gave way to suburbia which gave way to trees and grassy fields. The number of other cars on the road slowly dwindled to almost nothing.

Kurt turned off the main road, going down a tree-lined side street. It was straight and somewhat bumpy, the trees to their left and right interrupted occasionally by lonely unpaved driveways vanishing around bends hidden by foliage. Eventually, even these ceased, as the road began to curve gently to the right, eventually ending in a worn down circle of bare dirt. Kurt parked in the middle of this circle and got out, watching as Dave followed suit.

"What is this place?" he asked, squinting into the dense treeline.

"Just what it looks like: an out of the way wooded area. My mom used to like to go on walks here." He started down the trail, into the trees; Dave followed suit. It was already getting dark, so he picked up the pace; he wasn't sure how serious getting lost would be, but far be it from him to tempt fate. It only took a few minutes of walking for Kurt to feel safe; with winter just around the corner, he had little fear of random hikers interrupting them. He stopped, turning to Dave. "You need to let your power out, Dave," he said gently. "I understand how you feel, but you don't need to be in so much pain."

Dave began shaking — visibly shaking. "I can't..." he repeated. "I can't do it..."

"Look around you," Kurt said. Dave did. "There's nobody around here but us. There's nobody here to hurt, nothing important to destroy — unless you're an environmentalist, at least." He chuckled a little at his own joke; Dave didn't so much as grin, so the chuckling died off.

"You're here," Dave pointed out flatly.

"Yes, I am; remember that." He paused to let his play on phrasing sink in, then continued. "But we still need something for your power to act against. How about...?" He looked around. "That tree." He pointed to a nearby tree — it was a mere youth in botanical terms, not at all tall or thick, yet just old and sturdy enough to keep it well out of "sapling" range. It was a perfect candidate for a little show of force: strong enough to be a challenge, but not heavy enough to cause any real damage should it fall in unexpected directions. "If you focus on that tree, then it's a lot less likely your power will run wild and hurt me. And it _will_ run wild, Dave, if you don't let it out. You know that. You think you can do it?"

"I... I'll try." He turned towards the tree, staring at it for a long minute. Then he sank to his knees, his hands practically clawing at his head. "I can't... I'm afraid..." he whimpered.

Without thinking, Kurt knelt by Dave's side, causing stains in his pants that he'd have to scrub for ten minutes to get out. "Dave..."

"It hurts so much but I'm scared... I-I've never... I've never tried to use it on purpose before..."

Dave's shoulders were trembling under his letterman jacket. On an impulse, he reached out and grabbed those broad shoulders; the shaking actually lessened, which was what he'd hoped for. "Dave, I want you to try something for me." He swallowed. "Close your eyes." Dave obeyed. "You know how you feel your power right now, building up in your head?"

"Y-yeah..."

"I want you to take that force in your mind and just... push." Kurt had the distinct feeling that Dave's telekinetic constipation was entirely mental, the result of years of guilt and fear and repression. If he could just... pull the plug, as it were, everything would flow easier... He hoped. "Push at the tree, as though you were doing it with your arms."

"How do I do that...?"

Good question. "Try _thinking_ as hard as you can towards the tree — like there's a hole in your forehead, and all that power in your mind is just shooting out towards it." He squeezed tighter on Dave's shoulders. "Can you try that for me?"

"I... I'll try..." Dave's brow furrowed. Long seconds passed.

"Think, Dave." Kurt's volume dropped, his voice low and soothing. "Just think as hard as you can. Think about everything built up in your head. Think about that tree, think about pushing it back. Think..."

"Think..." Dave's lips parted; his teeth gritted. Kurt's eyes flickered briefly to Dave, then focused on the tree, which remained tall and still in the dwindling light.

It rustled.

Yes, it very distinctly rustled, even though the wind was still. Then it began to rock, back and forth, towards and away from the two boys. Then it began to shake, gently at first, but more and more violent with each passing second, hard enough to dislodge young leaves from its branches.

"Kurt...!" Dave's voice was infused with panic. "I can't...! I can't stop it!"

"It's okay, Dave! Just keep focusing on the tree!"

"It's just coming and coming and... Kurt! Help...!" His arms began flailing, he tried to rise... But Kurt used his grip on his shoulders to force him back into a sitting position.

"Focus, Dave!"

A sharp cracking of wood broke the air.

"Kurt!"

Kurt responded by grabbing one of Dave's wildly whipping hands and holding it tight — anything to break his panic and keep him grounded, to remind him where he had to direct that pent-up telekinetic force. "Keep focus, Dave! You're doing great!"

The tree was distinctly leaning away from them now; a fissure, showing bright tan inner wood, was now visible running across the trunk. Dave's grip on Kurt's hand turned into iron, sending waves of pain shooting up his arm. "I... I can't... I...!"

" _Focus_!"

Dave screamed, long and high, an agonized cry that pierced both Kurt's heart and his eardrums. It almost, but not quite, drowned out the mighty rip-roar of the tree's sundering. It fell — Kurt imagined he could feel the ground shaking at the impact.

The second the tree toppled, Dave did too, his entire upper body pitching abruptly forward; he would've fallen flat on his face into the dirt if Kurt hadn't used his holds on Dave's body to gently lower him to the ground on his side instead. He scooted forward on his knees (further rubbing in the dirt and grass stains), bowing towards Dave. His eyes were wide open, his breaths hard and panting. "Dave...?" No reply, except for the panting. "Dave, are you okay...?"

"I..." He coughed, but made no move to get up. "I... think so...?"

"How do you feel?"

"Weak. Tired. Really tired."

"Better?"

Dave paused. "Yeah..." he said with just a hint of wonder. "Better."

Kurt smiled, triumphant and weary and just a little smug, even as he couldn't help but wonder if this was what it was like to help someone give birth. There were certainly a lot of parallels, anyway. "You did it, Dave. You channeled your power without hurting anyone."

"I... I did... Didn't I?" The wonder grew.

"See? I told you that you were capable of it. If you let it out, just like that, before it has a chance to build up, it won't hurt anymore. We'll find isolated places like this, where you can do it regularly. Once we do, I'm sure you'll be that much closer to controlling it."

"Thank you..." Dave whispered. "Thank you so much..." His eyes drifted closed.

"Hey, wake up!" Kurt commanded. "I'm not waiting around here while you take a nap!"

"Mm, five more minutes, Mommy..."

Their laughter was weak, strained, exhausted. But they did laugh.

* * *

Dave laughed. "It was just like Jersey," he said as he pulled to a stop in the worn down circle of bare dirt.

"Well, the trips were for similar purposes, anyway," Kurt said as he got out of the Fury.

"Huh?" Puck asked from the back.

"We'll explain later. Wait here for us?"

"Okay... But if Olivia calls me, I'm gonna find you two immediately."

"Good. Do that."

Together, Kurt and Dave walked into the trees, much as they had that fateful afternoon. Despite the darkness, their steps were steady and confident, as if their memories were an infallible map. So Kurt wasn't surprised when they came across a fallen tree, with its jagged stump and eight years of rot. It seemed like an appropriate place to stop, so they did.

"So." Dave stuck his hands in his pockets, looking less like the confident man he was and more like the unsure teenager of Kurt's memories.

"So." There was only the chirping of crickets and the whistling of the wind through the trees. Kurt had decided to let Dave take the lead, but their time _was_ precious, so... "You wanted to talk?"

Dave exhaled. "Yeah. Let's talk."


	7. Chapter 7

"Um..." Dave leaned back against a tree. His head nodded up and down, along with his eyes, as if he had to make deliberate effort to keep from staring at the ground. "First off, I should just say I'm sorry..."

"For what?"

Dave boggled. "Are you kidding? 'For what'? For making things uncomfortable between us... again! I promised you I'd be handling my feelings, and I failed."

"You know, Dave..." Kurt began carefully, "I would've thought you'd know by now to not apologize until you know there's something to apologize for."

"My feelings are my problem," Dave said insistently, "not yours. But I just couldn't keep my goddamn emotions to myself. I guess I'm _still_ a selfish son of a bitch..."

"Why do you say that? Just because you slipped once?"

"It's not just that. There were times when I was in the base that... there was a part of me that wanted you to wait for me." He shook his head in disgust. "I hated myself for thinking that. It goes against everything I ever wanted or promised myself when it came to you."

Kurt gasped in mock horror. "Oh, no! You had selfish thoughts! That _never_ happens to anyone else! Seriously, Dave, how many times did I tell you in high school that people are what they _do_ and not necessarily what they think, especially in moments of weakness? We'd drive ourselves insane if we were responsible for every stray thought that popped into our heads. If you didn't act on those thoughts, and they really weren't what you were hoping for for me, why beat yourself up?"

"It's what I do," Dave said with a small, ironic grin. "I thought you'd have figured that out by now."

"True, true. It's a rotten, nasty habit. I'd hoped that the Agency's therapists would've cured you of that by now."

"Hey, I spent a long time hating myself, for _so_ many reasons. It's gonna take some time. But... I think I'm better now. I've made progress, anyway."

"Good. I'm glad," Kurt said with as much quiet sincerity as he could muster.

"But that doesn't mean I should go around disrespecting the boundaries you drew for me— us, and that's that. You've already rejected me once—"

"That," Kurt pointed out, "was seven years ago."

There was dead silence.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure I misunderstood you there," Dave said slowly. "You're not saying—?"

Kurt sighed. "I don't know. It's just been so long. We haven't seen or spoken to each other in five years. We're both completely different people now." He paused thoughtfully. "Both for the better, I think."

"I hope so," Dave said, echoing Kurt's sigh.

"But that means we aren't in the same position we were when you left. We've both grown. You're not so dependent on me anymore. I've gotten to live life without looking over my shoulder..."

"And now here you are, having to do it again," Dave said bitterly.

"For the millionth time, we blew _way_ past that point years ago. And as I recall, I'm the one who inserted myself into this, with eyes wide open." He looked Dave straight in the face. "I haven't regretted it, Dave. Not once. I'm serious. I would never lie to you about something as important as this."

To his credit, Dave nodded at once. "Okay. I believe you."

"My! You really _have_ learned! Then hopefully you'll believe me when I tell you this: I think... even with everything we've been through, there's the _possibility_ that... that things between us could change." Dave sucked in an audible breath. "Obviously, I'm not guaranteeing anything. Like I said, we're just starting to get to know each other after all this time apart, and maybe our lives will take us in different directions again." Kurt winced at the very thought, but he pressed on regardless. "There's still a lot of question marks, and we've barely had time to catch up, let alone answer any of them." He paused, deliberately, for emphasis and dramatic effect (thank you, theater training). "But I'm not ruling it out. Not anymore."

After a long minute, Dave nodded. "That's more — a _fuckton_ more — than I ever expected from you. And I swear, if I'd come out of that base, and you were still with Adam, or even some other guy, I would've been happy for you. Seriously."

"And what I had with Adam was just as serious, so I appreciate it." Kurt hesitated; should he really ask? Well, however much he didn't _want_ to potentially reopen a painful emotional wound for Dave, he _needed_ to, if he was going to address Dave's feelings for him, and this was as good a time as any to do so. Maybe the best time. "Was it the same for you and Jesús?"

"I..." He thought for a moment. "I think it was. Even if not, it could've been. It definitely had that potential. And at that point, I had to figure it could be another five years, ten years, maybe more, until I was free again. If he hadn't left... I'm almost positive we would've stayed together, even after I left the base. I would've figured I never had you to begin with, so I would've been happy if you were. Not because my feelings for you changed, because obviously they haven't, but because I found in him a lot that I never thought I'd ever find in anyone besides you. It's like... I love a lot of people, all in slightly different ways. The way I feel about you isn't how I feel about my dad, or Jesús... But it feels real. All of it does."

Kurt couldn't help but think of a conversation he and his father had, once upon a time, about the time when his relationship with Carole became serious. _She won't replace your mother, Kurt; she can't. But that doesn't mean I don't care deeply about her._ "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Dave. I wanted — want — you to be happy just as much as you want it for me. I'm sure you did love Jesús, but... that wouldn't necessarily do anything to what you already felt for... someone else."

"Yeah. Fucking emotions. So fucking complicated..."

"You're telling me."

The two chuckled, rather like old close friends who were catching up after years apart.

After the mirth subsided, Kurt spoke again. "I'm glad, though. I remember you telling me that you wished you had someone who could directly understand what you were going through."

"I remember that too. I did have that, so yeah... It was good."

"So having been in a relationship, do you think you can only be with a talent?" If Kurt expected himself to be upset or something even asking, he wasn't. Maybe because it was just one more uncertainty piled upon a whole mountain of uncertainties.

"I... I think I at least need to be with someone who already knows and understands what having this power is like, y'know? The good and the bad... all of it. Maybe it'd be another talent, maybe it'd be a normal person who works at the Agency... or someone just already knows about me... Someone who's seen me at my worst and still cared enough to..." He drifted off.

"You were going somewhere with that, Dave?" Kurt couldn't help the amused smile that came over his face.

"I don't..." Dave swallowed, and began again. "I don't even know if... if any of... of _this_ is a good idea."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, even _assuming_ you ever saw me as anything more than a friend, what kind of life would that be? I'd be away all the time, on assignment or training, maybe in even other countries. _I_ don't mind long distance, but is that fair to you? And that's ignoring the danger just knowing me puts you in..."

"But of course, if anything factors into whatever decision we make, that should be the last thing we think about. Because I think tonight demonstrated what I've been saying all along about it being too late, don't you think?"

"... Yeah. That really scared the fuck out of me. I think that's why I... said what I said. I just don't want you to get hurt because of me, whether you're my friend or enemy or whatever. I'm so sick of pain: being in it, causing it... I want to be like Jesús, start _healing_ it for once. Maybe that's why we got along so well: because he understood that." Dave nodded towards Kurt. "And so do you. You two are maybe the only ones in the world who _really_ get that part of me." He leaned his head against the tree trunk behind him. "Shit, Kurt, there were times back in high school I wondered if my feelings were just gratitude, because you were there for me in a way no one else was. But part of the reason that Valentine's Day happened — a big part — was that while we were sitting there eating, I was just looking at you and thinking about how beautiful you were... _are_... Inside and out..." Well, now, Kurt couldn't help blushing at that. No matter what the relationship, how could you not, being told something like _that_ so sincerely? "I knew then. I knew it wasn't just gratitude. Maybe that's why I bullied you from the start: not just because you were gay like me, but because... Well, I've embarrassed myself enough for one night. You already know anything else I could add."

"Um... Yeah. I'm... not sure what to say to any of that, honestly..."

"Neither do I, and I'm the one who said all that shit. But even though I still love you, I completely agree that it'd be moving way too fast to do anything right now, even if I knew right this second you felt for me what I feel for you. I'd — shit, this is gonna sound sappy — I'd want you to get to know the new and improved me first. All of me. So you'd know first what I've done with my life these past five years... What _you_ helped me do with my life."

"Something I'd want with or without a romantic relationship."

"Thanks. It's like, I know I have to come first, the same way you have to come first for yourself. I don't _need_ you anymore, not like I did before..." Kurt wasn't sure if he'd tell Dave about his own uncharitable and unworthy instinctual thoughts — about the rush he got, especially in the early days, having someone depend so totally on him like Dave used to. Maybe someday, when he wasn't so embarrassed. On the other hand, it did make him just a _little_ hypocritical, didn't it? Ah, well, that was for another time. "... But I still _want_ to know you, the way you are now. I'll bet it's even more awesome than before. We may have been thrown together at random in the beginning, but obviously, I got to really like you. Not even love you, I mean — just... like you."

Kurt nodded. "I understand, Dave. I feel the same way. I know what you used to think, but it wasn't just about the telekinesis for me. Maybe it was at first, but as we got to know each other... I found there was more to you than your power, and underneath all that bravado was a pretty decent guy."

"Another thing I owe you for."

"Don't give me magical personality-improving powers, Dave... Although that'd be a great talent..."

"No, but you did help me become brave enough to actually be that decent guy you seem to think I always was. One of the things that kept me going in that base was the idea that someday, I'd get to show you that guy, show you all the good you did him... me. Show you the life you saved, and what I'm gonna do with that life to pay it forward. Everyone I help from now on, everything I do for young talents like me... That's as much your legacy as it is mine, Kurt."

 _Legacy..._ It was a powerful word; it staggered Kurt a little by its sheer magnitude. And all that from becoming friends with just one scared and confused telekinetic kid. Maybe some of Ms. Pillsbury's philosophical musings about ripples on ponds were true after all. "Well, hopefully, there's still more to come," he said in a tone that he hoped was sufficiently jocular. "I'd hate to peak at such a young age."

"Shut up, you'll be fine. After you hit Broadway, maybe you'll get in TV and movies, become a bestselling author or something." The words were casual, but without an ounce of humor. Kurt could almost imagine that Dave could envision that kind of future as clearly as he always had in his own dreams since he was a child.

"Why not all of the above at once?" Kurt said with mock outrage.

"Hey, if you can train a telekinetic without having any idea what you're doing, the rest should be easy, right?"

"So far. It's just that... there's so much to _do_ , sometimes it feels there's not enough hours in the day. All the things I want to see, to achieve..."

"I've always known that," Dave said quietly. "That's one big reason I joined the Agency to begin with. I'm really glad you've been able to start on that road without having to worry about me." Kurt's emotions on _that_ topic were, to say the least, varying and conflicted. So it was a bit of a relief when he went on. "I'm just... surprised. That you'd even consider changing the way things are between us, I mean."

Kurt considered for a moment. "It's not a decision I came to lightly or easily," he admitted. "I like what we already have, and I don't want to harm our friendship." He could just make out Dave nod in the cold moonlight. "But the kind of bond we formed back in high school... It's, ah, _unique_ , to say the least."

"You can say that again."

"It's one of the deepest relationships I think I've ever formed. And you've known for years that I already love you... Maybe that's closer to _loving_ you than I cared to admit back then." Dave nodded; somehow, they both knew he'd understand exactly what Kurt was saying. "But at the same time, again, we've both changed, a lot. I need to get a better idea of who you are and what you offer now before I can decide whether I'd want anything romantic. I have to warn you that I'm just as demanding personally as professionally, so I hope you can handle that."

"Hey, I knew you were a huge perfectionist diva years ago."

"You speak the truth, David."

"So... what _do_ you want? Out of a boyfriend, I mean? If I can ask?"

It was easy to decide to answer; after all, despite its charged context, it was still a question easily and reasonably asked by a friend, so why not? "Support... Someone who can be there for me, and someone who'll let me be there for him. Intelligence, flexibility... In multiple ways." Kurt actually waggled his eyebrows; Dave roared with laughter. "Respect, someone who'll give me room to be myself, and not be defined the relationship... Someone kind, energetic... In the personal sense, I mean, someone who can keep up with me. Someone who actually _likes_ me, warts and all... You know, that reminds me: people always talk about love, love, love, as if that's all that matters... But there's _so_ much more than that when it comes to a partner... Sometimes love just isn't enough. If both sides can't get what they need and want from a relationship, what's the point?" He paused again to think. "Um... That's the big stuff I can think of right now... Maybe ask me again when I'm not worrying about Matt and, honestly, you."

"Okay, fair enough. I just... This isn't the reaction I was expecting from you. I'm kinda... thrown off a little."

"As long as it wasn't because you think you're inherently unlovable — and I trust Jesús cured you of that — I understand. We're both still trying to feel our way through this thing, especially you."

"Tell me about it. But one thing I think I got right on Valentine's Day: it's better that you know how I feel, honestly feel — if nothing else, so you can make your own decision about what you want to do with me."

"I think so. Honesty is the most important part of any relationship, friendship or... more. I encourage you to express yourself as fully as you feel comfortable."

Dave chose that moment to push himself off against the tree trunk and approach Kurt with slow, measured steps. "Then... can I do that? In a more physical way?"

"Um..."

Dave's eyes widened in horror. "Shit, no, not like that! Not like that, I swear! I just... Do you trust me?"

That question was certainly fraught, even in the best of times, but there was only one way he could respond. "Of course I do."

"I want to show you how I feel another way — not touching you, I mean! I'm not so good with words... I think I can only show you."

"Then go ahead. Like I said, I trust you."

"Then don't panic. And don't look down."

"What do you mean by th—?"

Kurt rose.

He literally rose. Like into the _air_.

He didn't shoot into the sky like a rocket — it was slower, gentler, as if he were going up a vertical escalator. Dave had used his power this way before — a couple of times at Kurt's request after the first trip to the barn, because seriously, who would turn down _that_ opportunity if it were presented to them — but...

"Dave..." he managed to croak out. "What's the point of this?"

"Just keep looking up, Kurt," the reply from below responded in an odd, soft tone.

Well, Kurt _had_ said that he trusted Dave — and meant it — so he obeyed. Overhanging tree limbs swept aside for him as he ascended towards the tops of the trees. It felt much the same as the other times: gravity was simply ignoring him, his feet feeling as though they were still planted on firm ground even though there was only empty air underneath them. As he ascended above the canopy (he had to remind himself several times to obey Dave's warning and NOT LOOK DOWN), the point he had asked for came into view.

The stars — a night sky filled with a dazzling field of light, with only the barest distant hint of light pollution, unblocked by branches or high tension wires. He wasn't that far off the ground — or at least, he didn't feel like he was — but even this small change in elevation made a huge difference. Kurt gasped in awe, lost in the sparkling field above him.

"I'd give this all to you if I could." Dave's voice was deep, tremulous... and right behind him.

"Y-you figured it out," was all he managed to stammer.

"Yeah. Deborah helped work me through how to lift myself. Turns out it was mind over matter all this time." A nervous chuckle.

"So now you can fly too." Even if it weren't for not wanting to give in to a fear of heights, Kurt wouldn't have torn his eyes away from the stars. He couldn't. "You really are a superhero."

"Whatever I am, the people in my life played a big role in that, good and bad. Some taught me to hate myself, that loving men was sick and wrong. Some... taught me to look past the self hate, to accept my talent and be who and what I truly am." Dave made no move to touch him — there was only the barest hint of warmth against Kurt's back, but that could've been his imagination. But he could still _feel_ Dave, feel how close he was at that moment. "I love you. If there's any chance for something to happen between us, I'll wait and work as long as it takes. But when it all comes down to it, it's about what _you_ want. If you never return my feelings, I'll be fine. If you... if you end up not wanting to ever see me again, so be it. I found some happiness when you weren't in my life, and I can do it again. But like I told you back in high school, I honestly think my life would be worse without you in it in some way, and I hope... I hope we can at least manage that."

Kurt exhaled, hugging his own chest tightly. "I wouldn't worry about that, Dave. I think things will work out, somehow. I truly do. I don't know if we'll be lovers when it's all said and done, but I think we've been through too much together to not at least be friends."

"I hope you're right."

"But I meant what I told you before: you deserve to be loved. Remember that you were... and still are, by so many people, no matter what happens between us."

"Thanks. I will."

A moment of silence passed over the two.

"It's beautiful," Kurt said softly.

"Yeah. It is. I missed this when I was away. Guess there's a lot you take for granted until it's gone."

"I completely agree." They stood on thin air in companionable silence for another minute. "I'm just so happy for you, Dave. You're well on your way to having everything I've ever hoped for you. You're who you always were meant to be: Dave Karofsky — football jock, confident homosexual, singer and dancer, the most powerful telekinetic anyone's ever known... You're embracing everything about you, and that's wonderful."

"Heh, that's quite the list. Sometimes I can't believe I'm actually all those things at the same—" His voice stopped short.

"Dave?"

"I... I think you just gave me an idea, Kurt."

His ears perked. "I hope it was a good one?"

"I think so. It's about how to deal with Evan."

"Oh yeah?" He tried to recall his words, but didn't have any luck finding anything so significant. "Mind sharing your brainstorm?"

"Let's just say you were right: I gotta embrace who I am."

"How mysterious."

"I know. Now I get to be mysterious for once. Who's the smart one now?"

Kurt laughed. "Okay, fine, I suppose the tables have to turn occasionally. But I'll get to find out what it is later, right?"

"Maybe."

"You're a complete bastard."

"But you love me for it."

"... I do." And that was absolutely true, no matter what their relationship was or wasn't, did or didn't turn into.

Kurt had no idea how long they would've floated there, amongst the stars, how long they would've forgotten that anyone or anything else existed. Maybe all night? But like many such moments in their lives, the peace was destined to be short lived.

"Guys?" Puck's voice floated up from under the trees. "Where are you? We've got a little problem here."

Dave groaned. "Dammit..."

"We have bigger fish to fry right now," Kurt said regretfully. "But when we have a chance..."

"Yeah."

Slowly, gently, the two descended. Once more, the trees made way for them. The rustling apparently alerted Puck, because he was already looking up with wide eyes as they made their way to firm ground.

"You have _got_ to let me do that someday," he said in awe. Then his brow crinkled. "What were you two doing, any—?"

"So what's the issue?" Kurt interrupted crisply.

"This." Puck handed Dave an envelope — a plain white envelope, with Dave's name and address written on it. Kurt gasped. "One of the guys sitting on your house found it slipped under the door about half an hour ago; it just got delivered to me. As far as we can tell, nobody breached the perimeter, but since that Midas guy is a telekinetic, we figure he probably used his power so he could keep out of sight."

With trembling hand, Dave slowly took the envelope. Glancing briefly at both Kurt and Puck, he finally opened it, and read aloud a computer-printed letter:

_Dave:_

_I'm truly sorry about earlier tonight; I hope you understand that you caught me by surprise a little. I also hope your friend Kurt is all right, and that you realize I deliberately let him live. I can be a very thoughtful ally, if you'd let me._

_We need to resolve this issue very soon — my employers won't let me waste too much time on any one individual, no matter how talented. We should talk, face to face, one last time. I want to make my best case, and impress on you just how much you are valued._

_But given what happened tonight, I think you'll understand that I need to take precautions to protect myself. I'll pick you up at your front door at 3 am tonight (please tell whoever is watching your house that it'll be futile and very unsafe to try to capture or shoot me). I will be taking precautions to make sure we are alone and not followed. I really hope you won't force me to use those precautions. I promise, the location where we'll have our chat will be safe, and I will not harm you; I just need a place where I know we'll be uninterrupted this time. I'll return you home right afterward, no matter what choice you make.  
_

_You are a Midas man. I feel it in my bones. I think we'd make excellent partners, and that you're open minded enough to listen to me. I hope I'm right — and not just for your sake._

This time, the note was signed; "Evan" was written at the bottom in graceful, swirling script. _God,_ Kurt thought, _even his signature is pretentious._ "I don't believe him," he said aloud to Dave. "That he'll just gracefully let you go on your merry way if you don't join Midas, I mean."

"Me neither. Does your boss already know about this?" Dave asked Puck.

Puck nodded. "He says it's up to you guys how you want to approach this, but except for me, we can't get involved."

"Right," Kurt sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Let's go back to your base. Hopefully, Sgt. Turner's found something that can help us... and Santana hasn't gotten herself arrested yet."

Puck laughed. "Ah, we've all gone up against worse than her. Remind me when this is all over to tell you about this girl we codenamed 'Medusa.'"

Even knowing nothing about that story, Kurt wasn't sure how pleasant it sounded. Nonetheless, the three tromped back to Dave's Fury and returned to the innocent-looking strip mall. Minutes later, they were back amongst the still ongoing hustle and bustle of the improbable military facility.

Santana was already waiting for them at the base of the stairs. "Finally! So are you two fucking now or what?"

Dave immediately turned beet red. _"Even with his psychic powers and creepy black ops training, he's still the same Dave we got to know back in high school in a lot of ways,"_ Santana had said earlier. Another thing she was right about, dammit, not that he'd ever give her the satisfaction.

Regardless, he obviously wasn't going to dignify her innuendo with a response. "Things are moving fast," he said, "and not _that_ way. We need to decide on a game plan. Now."

"Of course things are moving fast," Santana snorted. "Sgt. Turner has a lead she's been _dying_ to tell Sergeant Puckerman about."

"Really?" Puck asked brightly. "Great! C'mon, guys, let's go see what she has to say."

For once, Santana was not exaggerating in the slightest; Sgt. Turner was all energy and eagerness, nearly bouncing up and down in her chair once she saw the group approaching her. "I think I have something!" she squealed. She then turned to her keyboard and typed rapidly; a map appeared on a large screen just above her desk. "I managed to trace the Midas agent's movements after he left the junkyard."

"He turned his GPS back on?" Kurt asked.

"Nope! But all that did was make my job a little harder. Very rude of him. But I still had traffic cameras, satellite imagery, and a few little tricks that I came up with since I joined this unit. Anyway, here we go..." More typing, and a series of red lines appeared on the map. "This is everywhere he's been for the past 24 hours or so."

"What's this?" Kurt asked, pointing to a spot near the west side of Lima where a red line both entered and left. "The rest of his movements seem to be clustered in a few areas, but this is way out of the way of anywhere else he's been."

The region Kurt indicated expanded to reveal a small cluster of symmetrical buildings. "It looks like... an office park. He seemed particularly interested in this building here. But according to records, it's been abandoned ever since the last recession."

The group exchanged glances amongst each other. "You think...?" Dave began hesitantly.

"That might be where he's keeping Matt?" Kurt finished. "Abandoned building, away from most prying eyes... Seems like a good possibility."

"There's another, though," Puck said. "This could be where the guy wants to have his talk with Dave. The same reasons it's a good place to keep Matt make it a good place for that too."

"That's... a good point," Kurt said, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. "Either way, though, we should check it out."

"Should I go with you?" Dave asked. "What if Evan already knows about me meeting up with you guys?"

"No way," Puck said. "We're good at our jobs. I mean _really_ good. If there were any chance he could know you so much as talked to us, you wouldn't be here right now."

"It didn't sound from his note like he suspected anything," Kurt added. "Besides, if you don't make your appointment, he might get suspicious. If the office park is where he's taking you to talk, we'll be your backup. If it's where Matt is, we'll free him. Either way, your best role is to keep Evan out of our hair while we check things out."

Dave nodded, slowly and with a tinge of reluctance. "Okay... if you're sure you really want to do this..."

"Hey, don't worry," Puck said, slapping Dave on the back. "I've got this. I didn't spend all that time in training for nothing. I'll make sure we _all_ get out of this in one piece. Trust me."

"Okay," Dave said with another, shorter nod. "I'm counting on you." His eyes flickered between Kurt and Santana. "All of you."

"Then we'd better figure out our plan of attack. Olivia, can you put the map on the touchscreen?" The map obediently blinked into being on a large screen to Puck's left. "Okay, whether the Midas agent is keeping Matt there, or he was just scouting out a meeting place, we've gotta assume he's left behind some kind of surveillance. I've got equipment that'll help hide us from some common methods, but with what I know about how Midas and their tech operate, I think we can make our odds better if we split up and approach from different angles. Kurt, you and Santana take Wiley Road from the south." He dragged his finger across a street, forming a bright green line. "Turn on the scrambler I'm gonna give you before you leave downtown. You'll come in through the south parking lot here." He tapped on the map, increasing the sector with the office park to fullscreen. "Don't go faster than five miles an hour once you do. Park here, behind these trees, then follow the edge of the lot to the southwest corner of the building here. I'll be approaching via 15th Avenue from the east. I'll park here, and meet you guys at exactly..." He glanced at his watch. "... 0245 hours. That should be enough time for me to sweep the building and get us into position before Dave gets there with Evan, if that's where they're headed. Got it?"

"I... Um..." Santana began, and Kurt knew exactly how she felt; from the looks of it, Dave did too. It wasn't so much the words Puck said, but the way he said them: brisk, confident, commanding. The Puck of yore had been known for more bravado than bravery, but this... this was unmistakably the latter. All of his easygoing manner since they met earlier that evening, all the times he acted and sounded like the same old Noah Puckerman... Was that all a deliberate front, to reassure them and ease their guard? Somehow, that thought was the most chilling of all. "Y-yeah, I think I've got it."

Puck — no, not Puck, Sergeant Puckerman — nodded. "Good. Dave, your job is just to sit tight and make sure Evan doesn't do anything unexpected. If it looks like he's headed towards the office park, stall him if you can, but don't do or say anything that'll make him think you already know where you're going. Just know that we're there somewhere, and we have your back. If he takes you somewhere else, keep stalling as long as you can, until at least 0330. We'll regroup at your place whether we've found Matt or not."

Dave, in a clear sign of all the training he'd been undergoing, seemed to have recovered the quickest of any of them. "Understood."

"Good." He turned to Sgt. Turner. "Did Ernesto get the equipment ready?"

"Yep!" Turner said brightly. "It's all in locker Alpha, ready for checkout. Good luck, Noah, everyone. I'll see if I can figure out anything else while you're gone."

"Okay, great! Let's hit the road, then! We'll have Matt free before sunrise." That sloppy, charming grin was back, and it looked completely familiar, genuine.

Yet for reasons Kurt couldn't quite bear to articulate, even in his own mind, it was... different this time. Puck was different. And he wasn't 100% sure what to think of that.

* * *

Before he got into his car, Dave stopped Kurt for a moment. "Good luck. Stay safe, okay?"

"Of course. You too." Impulsively, Kurt wrapped Dave in, appropriately enough, a bear hug. He felt his friend stiffen for a moment under the embrace, but the hug was quickly returned, tightly and warmly. No matter how in flux their relationship was at that point, they were still friends, and they still cared for each other — or at least, that was Kurt's take on the matter. He was just a little relieved to know for sure now that Dave felt the same.

Afterward, Dave stared at the remaining trio reluctantly from behind the wheel of his Fury for almost half a minute before he finally drove off. "You guys go on ahead," Puck said once the Fury disappeared into the night. "I'll get my car and meet you at the rendezvous point. You remember how to work the scrambler? We won't be able to communicate again until we meet up."

Kurt looked down at the device in his hand, which looked all the world like just a normal, if bulky, walkie talkie. But Puck had assured them that inside, it was anything but normal. "I've got it."

"Great. See you there." He watched as his two glee club compatriots climbed into Santana's car, watched as they too drove off.

The ride was, for the most part, silent. Kurt had expected Santana to talk a mile a minute about everything they'd just witnessed and experienced, but they locked eyes for just a second at the start of their journey instead. Somehow, that one glance communicated all that needed to be said — and more importantly, all that they couldn't put into words. So they said nothing, instead staring out at the streets that were so familiar, yet now seemed so foreign.

Santana didn't even speak when she punched Kurt in the shoulder, but he knew what she was trying to accomplish: a reminder. Glaring at her for the unnecessary reminder, and its unnecessary roughness, he turned the "walkie talkie" on, adjusted its frequency to the number Puck had given them, then pressed the "talk" button four times rapidly.

"Is it working?" Santana asked, the first words she'd spoken since they left the military facility.

"I don't know. It's not like it's lighting up or beeping or anything. But I'm sure I did it right, so it should be working."

"I hope so." Such was the tightness of the atmosphere that he didn't even question Santana's obvious lack of faith in him. Truth be told, he was second guessing pretty much every decision he'd made in the past two days.

 _Okay, focus. You're no good to anyone, least of all Dave or Matt, in this state. You know what you need to do — you just need to_ do _it, just like when you're going on stage. Except there's no script, and if the show closes, people you care about might die._ He shook his head to derail the train of thought before it could take him off a cliff. _Focus!_

The car slowed, significantly and noticeably. Kurt looked out the window, at the dark office buildings looming in front of them, their facades dull with age and neglect, windows fogged and occasionally cracked. _We're here_. "Less than five miles an hour," Kurt said.

"I know, I know," Santana muttered, her grip on the wheel white knuckled. The car didn't so much drive as rolled across the leaf-strewn, unkempt asphalt, inching its way almost painfully past faded white lines and chipped tire stops. Finally, they came to a stop in a distant, lonely corner of the lot, one far enough from any building to have been likely unoccupied even in the complex's heyday. They gingerly got out of the car, with Kurt carefully letting the door latch closed instead of slamming it shut. As instructed, they crept along the line of trees surrounding the complex, Santana leading the way with a penlight, the most illumination Puck would allow them to have. She swore under her breath as she tripped over a root, but they were making progress; the main building, the one Evan had visited, loomed larger and larger with each passing second. Finally, after what seemed to be hours of tense skulking, they arrived at the southwest corner of the building. They pressed themselves against the walls, into the shadows.

"What time is it?" Kurt whispered.

"2:44. We're on time, barely." She looked around. "You see him?"

"No. But the whole point is to not be seen."

"You think we did good enough? For all we know, there could be a hundred alarms going off in there by now."

"There aren't," a voice out of the darkness said. Both of them jumped — literally jumped. The shape of Noah Puckerman formed out of the night. "I've already swept the building. Nothing and nobody out of place except some Midas surveillance tech. Looks like this is the Dave discussion site after all."

"Shit," Santana hissed. "You scared the hell out of me!"

"Sorry," Puck said with that grin that said he really wasn't all that sorry. "Anyway, now that we know Dave and the Midas agent are headed here..."

"Or we assume so, anyway..." Kurt said.

"Yeah, well, if not, then there's nothing we can do. So we should assume that they are. One of us will watch the front entrance, one the back entrance, and one will camp out in the lobby to keep an eye on Dave."

"I'll do that," Kurt said immediately. He could feel Santana's attention snap to him, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Puck chuckled. "Thought so. Then I'll take the back."

"Wait, what are we supposed to _do_ if something goes south?" Santana asked. "You guys wouldn't even let us have any weapons..."

"This guy's a _telekinetic_ , San. Most weapons wouldn't do shit against him anyway. Lucky for us, Olivia was pretty sure this Evan guy is acting alone, so the best thing we can do is stay out of Dave's way. He's probably the best equipped of us to handle Evan if something goes wrong. If he needs some kind of backup, grab me. I can't do a lot, but I can do _something._ And I will, too."

Those last words were spoken with a grimness and determination that somehow seemed foreign in Puck's voice. Kurt had to tamp down even more chilling thoughts of just how much his old high school classmate had changed in all these years, training at the feet of men like General Peña.

"We're here to support Dave," Puck continued, "and make sure no one gets hurt in the crossfire. You guys ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Santana said, just the barest hint of a tremor in her voice.

"Same here," Kurt said.

"Okay, then. San, you have a pretty good angle on the front door now, so you stay here. I'll take Kurt in through the back."

Santana nodded. If Kurt had expected her to wish them luck, or make some other sentimental words of farewell, he would've been disappointed. But he hadn't, so he wasn't. There was only a definite undercurrent of _some_ kind of emotion swimming in her eyes — whatever it was, she was doing her best to hold it back, and Kurt wasn't crass enough or stupid enough to pry. So he simply nodded towards her and followed Puck around the western edge of the building, hugging the wall as those empty dark windows stared down at them.

"Stay low," Puck's voice hissed out of the dark. "Just in case."

 _Just in case of what?_ The words were in Kurt's throat, almost making it to his lips, but he smothered them before they were born. Whatever the worst case scenario was, he didn't want to know.

After a few minutes of careful stepping (Kurt had no idea if he had to avoid breaking twigs or crunching leaves under his feet, but he was leaving nothing to chance), a distant shaft of light ahead grew brighter, illuminating a building corner and parking lot. Puck stopped just short of the corner; Kurt had to think quickly to avoid running into him. Puck turned, put a finger to his lips, and gingerly inched his way forward, hand at his side, gripping something Kurt couldn't make out. He didn't peek around the corner, instead crouching in a watchful pose. After a few seconds, he turned to Kurt and nodded. "Coast's clear."

Kurt wanted to ask how he could know that, but didn't. He simply followed Puck once more as he turned the corner. Indeed, he couldn't see anyone around, nor hear any sound except the buzz of the lamps and the skittering of leaves being whisked across the parking lot. Puck led him to the back door of the building; it opened noiselessly under a single push.

They made their way down the hall, past eerily empty offices and kitchenette areas, the only illumination coming from the outside... at least until Kurt turned a corner and saw a completely lit hallway. "Only lights that are working in here," Puck said. "And only where you can't see it from outside. Plus all the equipment is placed to guard this area. So that's how I figured that this is where Evan is going to talk to Dave."

"You're probably right." The two stopped in front of an open doorway in the middle of the hall. It was a large conference room, empty except for a couple of dusty chairs. The overhead lighting was strong, barely flickering, so Kurt could clearly see the dust settled on the red carpeting and the large light rectangle on a wall where a whiteboard had once hung. He wondered what it must've been like, having meetings in this windowless room. Probably just as dank and depressing as it was now.

"I think the best place to watch the action is over there." Puck pointed to an open door opposite them; it led to an office space, also lit, bare except for three abandoned desks sitting haphazardly in the middle. "Hide behind one of those desks. There's a door on the right that'll take you back out to the hall. Use that if you need to get me or Santana."

"Got it."

"Okay, I'm gonna take my position. You'd better, too; Dave and Evan should be here any second." He felt a hand clap on his shoulder, strong and warm. "Good luck, man." Then the hand was gone, as was Puck's very presence. He was alone in the abandoned building, alone in this small island of light isolated in the middle of cobwebbed gloom.

His throat suddenly felt very dry and constricted indeed.

"Focus," he repeated to himself. He'd drilled that lesson into Dave repeatedly over the years; it was high time for him to listen to himself now. Squaring his shoulders, he strode into the conference room, crossing it in just a few brisk steps. He entered the office space and crouched down behind the desk already facing the door to the conference room, and did one of the most difficult things in the world to do.

He waited.

No phone, no watch, so no way to tell time. But it had to have been at least half an hour since Puck left him, right? No, that was impossible; if it were that long, Dave and Evan should've arrived by now. Unless this was all misdirection, and they were somewhere else entirely. What could Evan be doing to him right now...?

No. No more second guessing, not if he wanted to fulfill his role. As Rachel was overly fond of quoting, "The show must go on."

So he continued to wait.

He only barely heard the distant voice, but as it grew stronger, it roused him out of his mental torpor. "... know it's a little run down, but it's private, and easy to keep watch on." _Evan_. Kurt's spine stiffened. "And according to my equipment, we're quite alone, and haven't been followed. I'm glad you wised up." A cruel, triumphant smirk came over Kurt's face. He peeked through the crack between the desk's modesty panel and the floor; it was just wide enough to see two pairs of legs walk into the conference room. One was wearing a very familiar pair of jeans.

"Yeah, well, you didn't leave me much choice, did you?" Kurt almost sighed aloud in relief hearing Dave's voice; he had to physically stifle it with his hands.

"All necessary. I'm sure you understand," Evan's supercilious voice responded. "Now, I promised you I'd keep my sales pitch brief, so let me appeal to you as a fellow telekinetic. Think about how much you can learn about yourself! Together, with me and the rest of Midas, you'd never feel alone—"

"Wait a second. Before you go on, I want to ask you a question."

"Go ahead."

"You got a lot of training with Midas, right?"

"Of course."

"Learned how to use your powers to their best potential."

"That's right."

"Did they measure your strength levels too?"

"Of course they did. They can do the same for you—"

"Oh, the Agency already did that with me." Kurt could see Dave's shoes casually scuff the carpet. "You know, I used to be a bully."

"How nice," Evan said drolly.

"A big reason why I could get away with it was because I was big and strong. So, obviously, I played sports. Hockey and football."

"Okay..." Evan's voice was infused with puzzlement — an almost perfect reflection of Kurt's own.

"Those are sports that take a lot of strength. Football, especially. My coach taught me that no matter how tricky or how quick a defensive player is, it's hard to execute a game plan when you're flat on your back on the turf." An inkling was starting to form itself in Kurt's mind. "I used that lesson a lot, especially in my bullying days, you know? Because I knew that even if the other guy was the smartest nerd in class, I could just punch his lights out."

"That's very interesting, but what's your point?"

"Oh, I'm getting there." Dave's tone was filled with smug anticipation that Evan didn't seem to even recognize; Kurt found his pulse racing. "Did you know that my telekinesis was still getting stronger when I was nineteen?"

"Really?" There was a complex mixture of emotions in that word: surprise, jealousy, avarice. "See, I knew it was worth pursuing you. You know how rare that—?"

(This was, Kurt later found out, the point at which someone got the drop on Puck outside and Tasered him. But none of the three people in that room at the moment had any idea.)

"So I heard. But here's my point: I was talking with an... old friend recently, and he reminded me of something he always told me: that I have to be myself." There was... something in the air now, something Kurt could _feel_ , in his teeth in the fine hairs on the back of his neck. If Evan could feel it too, he gave no sign of it. "You may have all this training in speed and finesse with your power, but me? I'm just a caveman with a big club — the most powerful fucking telekinetic ever recorded." Kurt could hear the wicked smile in Dave's voice. "Lemme show you just what that feels like."

Kurt wished he could've seen what happened next. But even if it was smart to break his cover, he wouldn't have been able to see much anyway. The best he could do was take Dave's later description and picture it in his mind.

All at once, Dave brought the full force of his power to bear, every ounce he could muster, forming a fist of telekinesis aimed right at Evan's face. The other telekinetic, by dint of having the same abilities, could sense the stream of force barreling directly towards him, sense just how much pure raw _power_ he was facing. In his startled panic, he couldn't concentrate enough to try to reach out around him, use the environment against Dave as he had before; he only had time to put up shields with his own telekinesis — shields that were laughably inadequate.

Dave's power effortlessly shattered the barriers; Evan actually gasped out loud, which Kurt did hear. Before he could react any further, even with the speed of his powers, Dave had him. Telekinetic force swept Evan off his feet; he screamed as he was thrown across the room. Kurt couldn't help but wince as he heard the thump of his body hitting the wall, even as he couldn't find an ounce of sympathy. Evan, still screaming, was hurled in the other direction, his body just stopping short of the opposite wall this time. Back and forth, back and forth, around and around the room, Evan was carried, screaming, until his cries were interspersed with choked gags.

Now Kurt felt safe to rise. He saw Dave, standing in the middle of the conference room, his shoulders and feet set with confidence, barely a drop of sweat on his brow. In front of him, shoes dangling several feet off the floor, was a disheveled Evan. His eyes were bugged out, his throat producing only faint choking sounds as his hands scrabbled at an unseen force locked around his neck.

"Not so fun when someone else does it to you, is it?" Dave said grimly.

"Dave...!"

His eyes barely flickered in Kurt's direction at the call. "Hey," he said, as if casually greeting a friend at the Lima Bean over a cup of coffee. "Thanks for having my back."

"Always. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. He can barely crumple a paper bag right now, in the state he's in. Now..." He turned a baleful glare at Evan. "Where's Matt?"

"W-who?" Evan asked in a choked voice.

"Wrong answer!" Dave barked. Evan shook in midair, so hard that his head wagged back and forth like a rag doll's.

"Dave!" Kurt shouted warningly. Dave's balled fists relaxed, but only slightly. Evan trembled to a stop.

"My friend Matt Rutherford! The guy you kidnapped last night! Where is he? Tell me! _Now_!"

"I swear, I don't know what you're talking about! Why would I snatch a friend I'd never even heard of before when I could've taken your dad or Kurt or your ex-girlfriend? Why wouldn't I have told you that I had someone you cared about before I met you? I didn't kidnap anybody!"

It made sense. It made way too much sense. And there was something in his voice, in his eyes... "Dave..." His own voice sounded a little distant, even to his own ears — perhaps because he was still in disbelief over what he was about to say. "I think... I think I believe him."

"You do...?" Dave squinted at Evan's reddening face. "But... But if he didn't take Matt, then who—?"

Something flew in a low arc from the opposite doorway — the same one Kurt had first entered by. It landed with a thump onto the floor behind Evan's feet. Both Kurt's and Dave's eyes turned to it, as did Evan's, the best he could.

It was a hand grenade.

There was a moment of stillness. Kurt's brain was rebelling. Surely that couldn't be what it looked like, right? Hallways just don't give birth to grenades out of nowhere. And what would a grenade be doing here, now? Was this some kind of hallucination or joke? His mental gears were grinding, just out of the suddenness and surreality of the sight.

He could only assume (an assumption that was later confirmed) that Dave's mind was locked in much the same way, and that that was the reason why Dave barely had time to react before the grenade exploded.

Kurt could never recall just how he managed to find himself in time to start to duck back behind the desk. It probably helped that Dave had managed to recover just enough for his abilities to kick in — but too late, far too late. Kurt wondered afterward if he had help getting to cover in time — telekinetic help. But not even Dave was entirely sure. "I can't remember exactly what I did. My instincts just took over then," he'd say later. "Like the power knew what to do before I could think of doing it. But even then... Fuck, it wasn't enough..."

Kurt thought he called out Dave's name, but it was lost in the roar of the explosion. He covered his head as the desk slammed against him, carried by concussive force. He blacked out — for how long, he couldn't say. But it couldn't have been more than a minute. His mind was still fragmented, even with the return of consciousness, a whirl of bits and pieces of images and words, almost overwhelmed by the ringing in his ears. He rose unsteadily to his feet, and saw the carnage.

The walls and floors of the conference room were pockmarked with gouges of shrapnel and scorch marks. He had no idea what kind of grenade it was, nor did he have any clue what kind of damage they were "supposed" to do, but some instinct told him that this was no run-of-the-mill explosive. The conference room lights were shattered in the blast, but there was enough illumination in the room Kurt was in, and the hallway beyond, to see the two bodies on the floor.

"Dave!" This time he definitely knew he cried out, but he still couldn't quite hear his own scream. He staggered around the desk and knelt at the side of the two fallen forms.

Evan was laying on top, and it was pretty clear he was dead. His head and back were charred, shirt and flesh torn apart by heat and shrapnel. Kurt's stomach protested, but his attention was quickly drawn by a low groan. Dave was underneath Evan's corpse; the body, and whatever telekinetic mojo Dave had managed to bring to bear, had shielded him from the worst of the explosion. Kurt could barely see Evan's limp form rise and fall from the breaths in Dave's chest.

 _He's alive! He's alive he's alive he's..._ But how badly was he hurt?

He was just reaching out when a shadow fell over his face. Slowly, Kurt looked up, only to be greeted by the barrel of a Ruger pointed directly in his face. Its wielder was someone he'd encountered, someone he'd actually _talked to_ , in the last 48 hours. Once again, his mental functions ground to a halt, just out of sheer shock.

"Please, don't move. I don't want to hurt you. It's only these demons that need to be cleansed."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, this chapter was the quickest and easiest to write in a while. Fitting, I suppose, it came at the end...

Kurt was mentally kicking himself. He should've realized he'd been lied to back at the military outpost, when Sgt. Turner looked into Matt's phone records. Hell, he should've realized what was going on the instant he decided to believe Evan's denials about kidnapping Matt. He supposed it was the mystery lover in him demanding to know why he hadn't seen the clues earlier.

Or maybe he was just trying to deal with the reality of having a gun pointed directly in his face.

She was no longer dressed in her uniform; instead she wore all black — cargo pants and loose fitting shirt. Her hair was now tied back in a tight bun against her scalp, but she was still plainly recognizable. Her name, Kurt recalled, was Cassandra. At least, that's what it said on her nametag. But since she obviously wasn't (or wasn't just) a hotel clerk, he had to assume that the name was just part of the lie.

"Okay, fine. I'm not moving," Kurt said as calmly as he could. His main priority at that moment was to stay alive; he wouldn't do Dave any good with a bullet in his brain. Each second that passed with him still breathing was another second when _something_ could happen, when an idea about what the _fuck_ to do now could come to him.

He prayed — God, he prayed — that would happen soon.

"You're afraid." Cassandra actually had the gall to look hurt.

"You're pointing a gun at me. That's not exactly what I'd call 'friendly'."

"You have a point. Okay." To his surprise, she actually lowered the gun, reengaging the safety. "See? I really don't want to kill you." Kurt noticed, though, that she kept the gun in her hand, making no move to holster it — not to mention she still had the rather large knife that hung from a sheath on her belt.

Still, no matter what her reasons were, his chances of survival, and thus Dave's, just grew exponentially. If he could just get her talking until Puck got here — surely he had to hear that explosion, right? "Y-you're a Cleanser, aren't you?"

Cassandra, to his mild disbelief, actually rolled her eyes. "Let me guess: you've been told that we're murderers and psychopaths, right?"

"Something like that." The words escaped him before he could think them through. Fortunately, though, she didn't seem to take offense — or at least, any more offense than she already had.

"Is a police officer who shoots a serial killer a murderer? Is a woman who kills a man trying to rape her a psychopath?"

"Is that what you think you're doing?"

"That is _exactly_ what we're doing!" Her eyes were hard and bright, twinkling with an almost manic energy. "These... _demons_ are a threat! Not just to individuals — the entire human race!"

"Maybe some of them are dangerous, but—"

"They're _all_ dangerous! If you knew what Midas, what the Shadow Guild, does with them... Hell, if you knew what ERI does _to_ them, you might consider what we do a mercy." Her voice turned pleading, as if she were desperate for Kurt _understand_. "They're abominations. They shouldn't exist at all. Do you _know_ what they're capable of? With them around, you can't trust anyone or anything — not what you see or feel, not the privacy of your thoughts, not even the ground underneath your feet. Do you have any idea what they've _already_ done that's been hushed up and explained away by shortsighted, traitorous governments? How can humanity thrive, _live_ , with that kind of threat constantly hanging over them, when they don't even _know_ what can be done to them?"

Kurt might have thought she had a point, if he hadn't already spent hours ever since his junior year of high school mulling over those exact issues. "So your solution is mass murder."

"It's _self defense_! The Cleansers have thirteen commandments every single member must follow. The very first is that the human race — the _real_ human race — must never come to harm by our actions unless absolutely necessary. We had two of our best and brightest flock leaders executed because they callously caused collateral damage that could've been avoided. Does that sound like the actions of psychopaths to you?" Luckily for all involved, she didn't wait for an answer. "The preservation of humanity is our entire reason to exist! If we don't make every effort to prevent harm to them, we're no better than the demons! Our whole crusade would be meaningless!"

That at least explained her talking to him — she was actually trying to find a reason not to kill him. He wondered how much he could play along and be believed. Best to find out by treading lightly. "So you're the one who kidnapped Matt..."

She nodded. "He was my primary target, actually." _Shit,_ Kurt thought, _she's actually telling me what has to be sensitive information. She must expect it won't matter — either she'll have convinced me of the rightness of her cause, or..._ The ringing in his ears from the explosion was replaced by the thuds of his pulse. "We found him in Denver."

"How?"

Cassandra smiled a smile filled with a manic energy that sent shudders up Kurt's spine. "We have eyes and ears everywhere. Our joyous web spreads across the globe. But I can tell you that he should've learned not to follow strangers around — you never know who's also following them."

"Then you know Matt's a talent. So why didn't you just kill—?" The answer came to him before he could finish the question. "Oh God..."

Cassandra nodded. "We took the time to put him under heavy surveillance. When we figured out what his ability was, we knew what we had to do. He'll be our bloodhound, to seek out and slay the abominations. We have no illusions that we will be able to end the crusade, not in my lifetime or my children's. But the advantage we could gain..."

"Where is he?"

"Alive. I've been keeping a close eye on him. Demon or not, he's a valuable asset."

"And you'll convince him to help you kill people how...?" Kurt rasped.

"We have ways. Many ways." Of that, Kurt had no doubt. "At any rate, one of our techies hacked his e-mail, and we found out about this reunion. I decided that it would be cleaner — heh — to take him here, in a small town with more limited attention and resources, instead of Denver. So I came here and had my Techie hack me a job at the hotel he was registered at. And I waited for my quarry." Her gentle smile was completely _wrong_ , on her and in general. "Just a simple retrieval operation, I thought. We don't do many of those, but one every once in a while is refreshing — though being in the field is always fun. Simple... until complications started showing up."

"Like us."

She nodded. "I like you. I don't know much about you, but I've liked you since the first time I saw you. When you've been working as long as I have, you learn to trust and hone your instincts — otherwise, you're dead. And they told me that you not only weren't a demon, but that your soul can still be redeemed, if your eyes can be opened to the deceptions of the wicked and the weak." Kurt needed absolutely no motivation to decide not to tell Cassandra about what he thought of her "God" or the chances of his eyes being "opened." In fact, her self-righteous (self-delusional?) certainty could be a way out of this mess, if he played it right... "Like them." She kicked at Dave's still form; he fought back the urge to jump her right then and there. "I saw him first." She nodded at Evan's body. "My chapel happened to encounter him before, so I knew he was a member of the Midas Consortium. I wondered if he was there because he knew about Rutherford, so I kept tabs on him to figure out what he knew. Then I found out there was another demon here too."

"Dave." The name slipped out before he could stop it.

Cassandra looked down her nose at him. "Yes, 'Dave'." She spoke the name as if it were an epithet. Kurt's hands unconsciously flexed tightly closed. "I didn't know if these two were co-conspirators or enemies, so I decided not to leave with Rutherford until I knew how much they knew and what Midas might have been told. When I heard that he'd known nothing about Rutherford's potential, well..." She shrugged, much too casually. "It was time to begin the purge." Kurt had no idea what his face looked like in that moment; he only knew he must've let some part of his true thoughts and emotions get through, because her own face fell. "Don't look at me like that," she snapped. "We're doing this for _your_ sake, you know! For your family, your friends, the billions upon billions of fellow humans who are in danger of being crushed under the tyranny of a few thousand! Doesn't that mean _anything_ to you?"

"At what cost?" Kurt managed to ask.

"At any cost, even my own life, to exorcise just one more demon. What do you think is an acceptable price for the survival of an entire species, an entire civilization — maybe an entire _world_?" Her booted feet twitched; Kurt guessed that she was fighting an urge to pace. "The corruption is getting worse, you know. The birth rate of demons is increasing, their abilities stronger — not much, but enough to fear for the future of humanity. What happens when a child is born who can rip the entire planet apart at a whim? What will your precious 'mercy' do then? The cancer must be excised before it spreads!"

"They're people. They're people just like you and me..." He had no idea why he was arguing with her. Not only was she a fanatic, but he was perhaps literally digging his own grave. Maybe because something inside him was rebelling at even having to listen to the madness she was spewing...

"No! Not 'people'! That's their deception! That's how they infiltrate humanity and work their wickedness! Do you actually think humans can coexist with demons? One side will inevitably try to use and abuse the other, and what happens then? Naive children like you are going to kill us all! Look at what the Midas agent did, on a whim: put the lives of you, your friend, and her unborn child in danger! And for what? Power corrupts — absolute power corrupts absolutely! Normal dictators and tyrants are bad enough; what could one with the power of persuasion or immortality do? No! I will not stand by and let this world be overrun or destroyed because of the ignorance and gullibility of people like you! I _will_ save you all, despite your best efforts! That's why I joined the Cleansers: because I want to make an actual _life_ for future generations, no matter how ungrateful those we're trying to save!"

The worst part of her insanity was that there was _just_ enough sanity in it to not be completely divorced from reality, though the illusion was somewhat broken by the fact that her voice got louder and shriller with each sentence. "You really believe all that... You really believe that talents have to all be killed..."

Cassandra snorted in contempt. "'Talents'. They not only want to control our souls, they want to control our words too, to make themselves seem like they're human. Well, let me tell you something: if you could only see what I've seen, what these 'talents' have done, you'd be begging at my feet to join the Cleansers. We're the only ones who see them for what they really are: demons and devils, all." A cruel glint came into her eye. "The most satisfying thing in the world is to turn the tables on them, to make _them_ the helpless ones, to see their faces when they realize that we're more than just their cattle or prey animals. Sadly, I don't often get that opportunity; there are too many of them who are too dangerous to confront directly. But when I do... Oh, Lord, it's _glorious_. It makes me feel _so_ alive, so righteous... That's how I know how blessed our crusade is."

"Crusade?" His anger and disgust were overwhelming his survival instincts. "Sounds more like genocide to me."

"So what if it is?" Cassandra barked. "It's us or them! We'll be dead and buried under their heel, or they will! I don't know about you, but I want to live! I want my parents and sister and fiancee to live, not be playthings for some demon's sick amusement!"

"They're not demons. They're human beings," Kurt said. "Just like us. There's good and evil in them, just like us..."

"'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live'." Dammit, they'd almost made it through this... _conversation_ without a Bible quote. At least she didn't bring up Leviticus 18:22. "Their crimes are a scar on the history of the world that will never heal. There's too much at stake — their entire race must be wiped out." By infernal sense of timing, Dave groaned at Cassandra's feet. She looked down at him coldly. "One demon at a time."

Kurt could feel events start to run away with him, like the pull of the tide. The simile was especially apt, as he could almost literally _see_ the rocks he and Dave were drifting towards.

Did he have a chance against her? She was obviously a killer of experience, and armed where he was not. But in the bottom of his gut, he knew that none of that would matter to him if she made one more movement towards Dave. Kurt might die, but he'd die, gladly, defending his friend.

Somehow, ever since he found out about Dave's gift, some part of him always expected that he would.

"Telekinetics are tricky," Cassandra said almost casually, "but two are even worse. I didn't think I'd need to bring my heavy arms with me, and there was little chance I could've shot them both before one of them got me. The grenade was supposed to do the trick, but I guess the modifications weren't as refined as I was told they would be." She shrugged, her gun hand rising. "Oh, well. I suppose I'll have to do this the hard—"

That was when Santana leaped onto Cassandra's back, screaming like a banshee.

Her long black hair whipped every which way as sharp red fingernails dug at Cassandra's face and eyes. Cassandra began screeching herself, staggering about and flailing in surprise and pain. Santana grabbed Cassandra's wrist and twisted, slamming the back of her hand against the wall; the Ruger clattered to the floor. Cassandra reached up and scratched at her attacker's arms, then grabbed at Santana's head and hair. Kurt could've told her that was a bad move; it only made Santana angrier. Her legs locked tighter around Cassandra's waist as the two stumbled and swore about the room, yanking and clawing and beating.

Santana was a brawler — that much Kurt knew. She fought viciously and dirty. Cassandra may have had more skill, but the element of surprise was a strong one, leaving her reeling.

Nevertheless, the inevitable end came within seconds.

Cassandra slammed her back — with Santana still clinging on for dear life — against the wall, over and over and over again. With each impact, Santana cried out in pain, her legs jarring looser and looser, until finally, they couldn't hold on any longer. She slid off Cassandra's back and down the wall, dazed. Cassandra immediately did an impressive whirling kick; Kurt winced at the crack of her foot impacting Santana's cheek. Santana's head lolled to the side with a soft moan.

"Bitch," Cassandra snarled, wiping a trickle of blood away from her lip. She unstrapped the knife from its sheath and drew it out; yes, it was as huge and as sharp as Kurt had feared. "I'll save you all, even the unworthy, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming to redemption." She turned towards Dave. "Don't worry, he won't feel a thing. That's a mercy he doesn't deserve, but—"

"Stop." There was a reason Kurt hadn't intervened to help Santana. Well, multiple reasons — with all their struggling, there was little chance he could have attacked Cassandra without seriously hurting Santana, and he was fairly sure Cassandra wouldn't kill her anyway. But the main reason was that he had something important to grab.

The Ruger was heavy and cold in his hand.

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding—"

Kurt calmly flicked off the safety and raised the gun, pointing it steadily at center mass.

Ever since the gay bashing in New York, ever since it was driven home that there were shadowy forces out there that could do him and his loved ones harm, Kurt had resolved to learn how to defend himself and them — by whatever means necessary. He might not have liked firearms, but that didn't mean he couldn't know how to use them.

Cassandra apparently saw something in him, in his eyes or his body, for the condescension and disbelief immediately melted from her face. "Okay. Let's just stay calm here." She took a step forward.

"Stop." His hand tightened on the Ruger's grip. She froze. "Drop the knife. Now."

The knife lowered slightly, but did not drop. Kurt could see her eyes flicker between the gun and Dave's fallen form, her conflict and calculation plain. She'd said that she'd sacrifice her own life to destroy even one "demon"... Dave was beginning to stir.

Finally, Cassandra made her decision. "Come on," she cooed, her voice soft and soothing, "you don't want to hurt me." She took another step towards Dave. The gun didn't fire, but it did not waver either. "I know you're not like me. You're not a killer."

"No. I'm not."

Dave's eyes began to blink. The knife in Cassandra's hand flashed upward.

The report was deafening in that small room.

There was a metallic ring as the knife bounced off the floor. Cassandra stared at him, open mouthed, then looked down at the blossom of blood spreading across her chest.

"But I am now," Kurt said.

He fired a second time, then a third. With each bullet's impact, Cassandra staggered back. Then she dropped to the floor in a heap.

Kurt did not tremble as he lowered the gun. He didn't feel anything at all when he approached Cassandra's body, the gun still trained on her, and satisfied himself that she wouldn't be killing anyone else ever again. There would be time for nausea and nightmares later.

He knelt down at Dave Karofsky's side, shoving Evan's body off him and cradling Dave's head in his arms as best he could. "Don't move," he said, barely a tremor in his voice (which was, in of itself, distantly disturbing).

"K-Kurt...? Fuck, it hurts..."

Kurt looked Dave over — plenty of cuts and bruises, but no obvious signs of major physical trauma, thank God. But who knew about internal...? "Just stay still," he commanded with his best sensei voice. "You're going to be fine."

"Ugh..." Santana was stirring, rubbing her cheek, which was already bruising. "Motherfuck..." Her sight fell first on Cassandra. "What the—?" Then she looked up towards Kurt and Dave. "Did you...?" Kurt could see the questions swimming in her eyes, but to her credit, she asked the most important one first as she got unsteadily to her feet. "Is he okay?"

"I think so. But we need to—"

"Oh. Fuck." They all turned towards the door. A woozy Noah Puckerman stumbled into view. "Someone Tasered me, and must've drugged me, because—" In one silent second, he took in the scene of carnage, and calmly whipped a smartphone out of his pocket. "HQ, code one. I need medical and a cleaning crew to my location." Then he swiftly joined Kurt at Dave's side. "Hold still, man. Does this hurt?"

"Oww!"

"Okay. Can you elevate your leg?" Kurt scooted back, but only an inch or two, to let Puck work. "You need a doctor. One's on the way. I'll do what I can to stabilize you until he gets here, but you gotta stay calm for me, okay?" He glanced at the others. "What about you guys?"

"I'm fine," Santana said with a shake of her head, even as she continued rubbing her cheek.

"Me too." A wave of exhaustion threatened to drown Kurt, but he forced himself back to alertness.

The mortal danger had passed, but this wasn't over yet — not without a very important missing person.

* * *

Minutes after Puck called in his fellows, all of them were safely back at the installation. Dave was in back somewhere, being treated, and Kurt itched to barge in and demand to see him. But he somehow kept calm, and waited in the break room with Santana and Puck. What felt like hours passed, during which explanations were made.

"Need more ibuprofen?" the latter asked the former.

"I'm fine. Ouch, fucking bitch." She gingerly poked at her cheek. "So she was one of those Cleansers, huh?"

Puck nodded grimly. "Security tossed her apartment. Plenty of equipment and intel, but no sign of Matt."

Kurt frowned, stroking his chin. "What about Evan?" Santana asked.

"Olivia found out that he had a room at a B&B just outside town. We tossed it too. Again, plenty of intel, but it looks like he was telling the truth about not knowing about Matt. Doesn't look like he had time to send anything concrete about Dave to his superiors either, so it looks like you guys are off the hook as far as Midas goes."

"But still no Matt," Santana said softly. "Where the fuck could she have been keeping him?"

"She said she'd been keeping a close eye on him," Kurt said, a notion beginning to form in his mind. "That means..."

"The hotel?" Puck finished. "Yeah, we thought of that, but with all the turnover in the rooms, and staff going in and out of all the basements and closets and shit... All the guests are real — Olivia checked them out — so she didn't set any rooms aside with a phony name. There's nowhere for her to stash him there without _somebody_ finding him..."

"No..." Kurt said, not even noticing himself rise to his feet as the notion became a full blown idea. "No, there's one place she could practically guarantee would be safe for the entire weekend."

"Yeah?" Puck said, interested. "Where?"

As it turned out, Kurt was 100% right. There was a "do not disturb" sign hanging on the door when Puck's military comrades, disguised as federal agents, got there — a sign that had not been there when Kurt and Dave had last seen it. Access was easily gained, and there, indeed, was Matt Rutherford — in his own hotel room the entire time. He was unconscious, handcuffed to the bed, with an IV stuck in his arm, but he was alive. He was swiftly brought back to be checked out by the same doctors treating Dave.

Puck left to check on him, leaving Kurt and Santana alone in the break room. Kurt cleared his throat. "Thanks," he said. "Dave and I owe you."

"Damn straight," Santana said with a break in her voice that belied her casual tone. "You two have owed me for years, as far as I'm concerned, so I'll just add it to the list." She twisted the wedding ring on her finger. "I saw Dave and the Midas guy arrive and go in. A few minutes later, I heard the explosion," she said softly. "It took me for-fucking-ever to grope my way through that dark building and find you guys."

"You charged right in," Kurt said, "without even knowing what was going on or what you'd find."

"Yeah, stupid, wasn't it? But like an idiot, I was worried about you. If I'd died in there... If you or Dave had..." She shook her head. "I knew this shit was serious, but it didn't really sink in until after it was over. When I saw her, and that gun, all I could think was, her back is to me. I can handle this." She snorted in disgust. "But she ended up handling _me_."

"She was an experienced assassin. You did pretty well, considering. Plus, it bought the time I needed."

"You okay?" The question came out of nowhere, without an ounce of sarcasm. Kurt knew immediately what she was referring to. As a doctor's daughter, he supposed she'd know at least a little about that kind of psychological toll...

"I... I don't know. I don't think so, though." He inhaled, deeply, through his nose. "But I'll be all right. I'll deal with it. I'll find a way. Maybe Dave can refer me to a shrink I can actually talk to about it."

"He'd better do something. He owes you his life. Again."

"No shit." Both turned towards the door. Dave was standing there — a little bleary-eyed, a little slumped, but definitely, unmistakably alive.

Kurt was on his feet in an instant; Santana joined him a second after. "Dave..." he said with a choked voice. "You're okay..."

"Not exactly okay..." He rubbed the back of his head. "But okay enough, especially after a lot of painkillers. Thanks to you."

Without another word, Dave stepped forward and wrapped Kurt up in a tight embrace. Kurt returned it, immediately and gladly, trying to keep the tears back. Out of the corner of his (not at all teary) eye, he saw Dave gesture for Santana. "Oh, no," she said, crossing her arms. "I'm not getting in the way of the— Oh, what the hell." Then her arms were around them both, and they were all hugging and trembling and on the verge of crying and Kurt felt like every bit of tension and worry and fear that had been built up the past three days was finally, finally draining out of him.

At last, it felt like it was over.

When the three finally separated, Dave said, "Thank you. Thank you both. I... I don't know what I would've done without you guys by me."

"Probably fucked the whole thing over," Santana said, trying to wipe her eyes subtly, but completely failing. "But you're welcome anyway."

"Oh!" Kurt said. "How's Matt?"

Dave smiled a warm smile that lifted Kurt's heart just by the seeing. "You wanna go see him?"

He led them to a back room; as they approached, Kurt could hear muffled laughter come from behind the closed door. When the guards opened it, the laughter reached them in full. The room was, naturally, some kind of infirmary. Matt was laying in a hospital-style bed, dressed in a green gown, with Puck in a chair next to him. "And do you remember the look on Finn's face?" he cackled.

"Oh, God, yes! Still one of my favorite moments at McKinley!" Matt brightened further when he saw the cluster of people in the doorway. "Hey! Come on in!" He waited until all had grabbed chairs and set them around the bed before speaking again. "Puck told me what happened — or at least enough of it." He locked eyes with each face in turn. "Thank you. All of you. You risked your lives for me, and I... I don't think I can ever repay that."

"You're alive. That's repayment enough," Kurt said. "So how do you feel?"

Matt exhaled. "Tired. Kinda weak. They still don't know what I was drugged with, but the doctor says it'll take a while to get it all out of my system. But otherwise okay." He shook his head. "I still think all of this is still kind of..."

"Weird?" Dave said.

"Confusing?" Kurt said.

"Fucked?" Santana said.

"All of that," Matt said with a smile. "I'm still processing everything: having powers, being kidnapped by some religious fanatic who wanted to use me to help her kill others... But it's easier — a _lot_ easier — to deal with just knowing you guys are here. Just having friendly faces around... I missed McKinley, you know, for a lot of years. Even with all the weirdness and drama, I still missed it. Because of the people I was leaving behind — like you guys. I'm just... just really grateful for all of you."

"Well, your world did kind of get turned upside down," Dave said, "so anything to help make it easier."

"Yeah." Matt sighed, leaning back against his pillow. "I've been wondering about that: what happens to me now?"

"Actually," Puck broke in, "the general wanted to discuss that with you." He nodded towards the rest of the group. "All of you. He wanted me to have everybody see him in his office as soon as you were able."

"Even Matt?" Kurt asked. "Is he up to it?"

"I'm fine," Matt said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Or fine enough, anyway. I'll just die of curiosity and boredom if I stay in bed." His knees wobbled as he got onto his feet, but he righted himself — though much too quickly for it to have been natural. Matt looked up at Dave with wide eyes. "Was that...?"

"Yeah," Dave said with a smile.

"Cool. So someone mind helping me a little? Guess there's still more of that crap in me than I thought."

Puck was the one to help Matt out of the infirmary and into the general's office. When they entered, General Peña stood from behind his desk... but he wasn't alone. Two other people were present; they turned simultaneously in their chairs at the entrance.

"Agent Greene?!" Dave burst out.

"Coach?!" Santana said at almost the same time.

"Ah, glad we all know each other," Peña said wryly.

"Santana," Sue Sylvester said with a curt nod.

"David," said the well-built man with red hair who had to be Agent Greene.

"I've been briefing both of our guests on your... recent activities," the general said as the young people found seats (except for Puck, who remained standing much has he had earlier that night).

Dave paled a little. "Uh, Agent Greene, I—"

"I understand why you didn't contact me, David," Greene said with even calm. "I don't approve of it, but given what Ms. Sylvester's already told us..." He nodded towards her. "I can certainly see why you made the decisions you did."

"Then..." Matt swallowed audibly. "You know about...?"

"What you can do?" Peña said. "Yes. Ms. Sylvester felt that we needed that context. Don't worry, though, she has, ah, _extracted_ certain assurances from us."

"Whatever happens to you from now on will be up to you," Sylvester said flatly to Matt. "No pressure, no games. Whatever you want, whether it's to join one of these people or to be left alone."

"Consider this your final debrief," Peña said. "Then we can all close the book on this and get some much needed sleep."

"Agent Greene..." Dave still looked dazed. "When did you get here? How—?"

"The general contacted me not long after you were injured," Greene said. "As for how I got here so quickly... I called in a favor." He smiled. "We Agency operatives are there for each other, David. Never forget that."

"And you?" Santana said slowly to Sylvester.

To Kurt's surprise, Sylvester actually answered her, even if it was only to put her off. "I'll explain later," she said. "Any of you got any questions? Ask them now, because once we walk out of here, I'm going to forget all of this and all of you for a few days and head down to Cancun to decompress." She shook her head. "I always knew you kids would screw me over nine ways to Sunday. I just never imagined it'd be like _this_."

The former McKinley glee clubbers glanced at each other — even Puck. A kind of understanding seemed to pass between them, because they all returned their focus to the general. "Are we safe?" That was the first question to come to Kurt's mind, and he asked it.

Peña nodded. "We think so. Sergeant Puckerman should have already told you that it doesn't look like the Midas Consortium operative reported to his superiors about Mr. Rutherford. The Cleanser assassin..."

"Cassandra?" Kurt said.

"That's just an alias, but we can use that name for now. At any rate, her superiors obviously know, but we can work with that. We found enough intel in her apartment to demolish her Cleanser cell. In fact..." Peña glanced at his watch. "Troops should be moving in right about now. They'll figure out where to go from there, but given the loose structure of the Cleansers, I doubt the information's spread far." He looked at Matt. "I think you'll be safe for now, son." Matt shuddered, though from what kind of emotions, Kurt could only speculate. "As for the Midas operative, we've already turned his body over to them. As far as they're concerned, he was killed by a Cleanser during a recruitment mission, and that's the end of it." Peña smiled. "And it's absolutely true, which is the best part of all."

"So they know I was the one he was trying to recruit?" Dave asked.

"Not exactly," Greene said. "They only know he was trying to recruit an Agency operative, but not who or why. We made sure his records didn't mention any names. But don't worry; they won't dig any further. That kind of jockeying for other factions' personnel happens all the time."

"So how the hell do _you_ fit in?" Santana demanded of Sue Sylvester.

There was a moment of silence before she answered. "Just visiting a couple of old... colleagues," she said with more startling directness. "And reconsidering retirement."

Both of the older men seemed as surprised by this as anyone else. "Really?" Greene said, staring at her blankly.

Sylvester shrugged. "If this whole debacle's taught me one thing, it's that I can't escape any of this. I've got a responsibility here — had it since the first day I got involved in all this — and Sue Sylvester does not shirk her responsibilities."

"So..." Peña said carefully, "you'll be rejoining...?"

"I'm not 'rejoining' anyone or anything, Nathan," Sylvester sneered. "I'll be operating on my own."

Peña's eyes widened. "Are you serious? With what resources?"

"Oh, believe me, _General_ , I have a lot more left in the tank than you think. And I think it's pretty clear that this factional fighting bullcrap has gone much too far. You all have your agendas and your plots..." Greene actually snorted at this; Kurt wondered what sort of backstories were lurking there. "... and nobody's thinking about the talents — not for their own sake." Sylvester's face set in a steely, determined look that Kurt found very familiar. "Well, somebody has to, and it looks like that somebody's got to be me."

"You... playing that kind of role?" Peña looked on the verge of laughing. "You really have changed, haven't you, Sue?"

"I like to think of it more as 'gaining life experience.'"

"And you'll be doing... what?" Greene asked. "Tracking down talents? Helping them? We already _do_ that."

"Yes, you do, Dan — but only after they're so desperate they have nowhere else to turn except you, no choice but to do what you want them to do." Kurt stirred; he sensed Dave do the same. "I'm going to go to them early, with no agendas, before it gets that far. I'm going to lay out their options, objectively and honestly, and let _them_ make the choice: a rational, informed choice. And I'll help them make sure their wishes are granted, without pressure or interference from _anyone_." She stared harshly at the two men.

"Most of them won't be rational," Greene objected. "In some way, most of them will fight you."

"Let me worry about that."

"You?" Peña still looked on the verge of laughing. "'Objective and honest'?"

"More than either of you could ever be. I've seen the best and the worst _all_ the players have to offer, I'm not interested in any of your goals, and I hate you all. Who could be more objective than me?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Kurt and the others. "And all of you have a place with me, if you want it. You all showed a lot of _cojones_ out there. I always knew each one of you was worthy of the attention I gave you all back when you were in high school." Kurt couldn't help but remember that she'd also just said she knew they'd screw her over someday. But perhaps, according to Sue Sylvester's... _unique_ world view, both could be true at the same time. "I can't promise you it won't be dangerous, but I assume all of you already figured that out for yourselves. But if you join up with me, I'll do my damn best for you. You already know I'm good for that."

Indeed, Kurt did. But he was the first to answer. "I'm sorry, Coach, I don't think I'm ready to get that deep into this yet." He was conscious of the way he added "yet" to the end of his sentence; was that his intention all along? Even he couldn't exactly say. "I'm building my own life, and I like it."

"I already have a place," Dave said, although Kurt noticed he was looking at Agent Greene quite differently than he had when they first entered the room. Maybe he'd have to ask later what that was all about; God knew they'd likely be talking a lot from here on in.

"Me too," Puck said.

"I'm in." Santana looked around at the surprised looks on her peers' faces. "What? You don't think I can do this? I just saved your asses, for God's sake!"

"No no," Kurt said hastily. "It's just that... I didn't think you'd be interested. You could've died tonight..."

"I told you, I owe you and Dave, big time — still do. I think this is the best way I have to repay you guys. I don't think I can live a normal life now anyway, not now that I know about all this. Besides, I've been wondering what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, and..." She shrugged. "I think I have better job security with Coach than I have at a corporate law office, that's for damn sure."

Sylvester nodded. "Welcome aboard. We'll discuss your role later."

"Well," the general said, "there's one person who hasn't answered yet." Everyone turned to Matt, who looked a little uncomfortable at all the attention.

"You've got a unique gift, son," Greene said gently. "I won't lie to you: the Agency would be extremely interested in you. And you have your friend Dave here to be support, if you need it."

"Same with our unit," Peña said, "and Sergeant Puckerman here. He'd make sure that you'd be treated fairly."

"Damn straight," Puck said.

"But it's up to you," Sylvester said. "Whatever you choose, my first job in my new organization will be making sure that you're protected from these hyenas." Greene looked mildly offended; Peña's expression didn't shift one bit. "And all the other scavengers out there. You're a person, not a Holy Grail, and whatever you want to do with your life, that's up to you."

"I..." Matt inhaled. "This is kind of much..."

"If you need more time," Peña said, "we'd understand..."

"No. I mean, I've been thinking about this ever since I woke up, and..." He nodded to Dave. "I owe you guys my freedom, maybe my life. I feel like I need to repay that."

"We already told you, you don't," Dave said.

"I thought Coach said that was up to me?" Matt said with a wry grin. "Anyway, I want to help other people... like me. But at the same time, I'm kind of like Kurt. I've been building my own life, and I want to keep living it... at least for a while..."

"Might I suggest something?" Peña said. "Perhaps until you decide how you best want to use your talent, you can... freelance."

Matt blinked. "Freelance?"

"We already have a worthy middleman right here." He waved carelessly at Sue Sylvester. "If she says she'll be objective, I for one actually believe her. If you find a talent, she can give that information to whoever she feels will best meet the talent's needs, or go after him herself. You only need to deal directly with her. That way, your independence is preserved until you make up your own mind where you want to go."

The room was silent for a moment. Even the great Sue Sylvester looked slightly... not discombobulated, but... put off? "I have to say, Nathan," she said slowly, "I'm surprised. You usually aren't so... reasonable. Or trusting."

"I learned long ago it's easier not to fight you, Sue," Peña said with a grin. "At least this way it's still possible to have access to Mr. Rutherford's intel. As for trust... well, you earned that a long time ago. At least from me."

One more, Kurt's mind whirled with the possible backstories in play here. Perhaps he'd never know the full details. Perhaps that was for the best.

"All right, then." Sue looked at Matt thoughtfully; Matt shrank back a little — not that anyone could blame him. "What kind of work are you interested in?" she asked.

"Me? Uh... Well..." He blushed. "I kinda got interested in show business because of New Directions. Not even performing, necessarily, but the business side or working behind the scenes..."

Sue rolled her eyes. "Of course. Well, if you insist on ruining your life before it gets started, I think I've got a few strings I can pull."

"So do I," Greene said.

"They'll help you with education and networking — consider it your salary for now. One advantage you'll have is that with the right job, you'll be able to travel the country, visit all kinds of people in big cities. That'll increase the chances you'll actually run across a talent."

It made sense — a mildly twisted sense, but sense nonetheless. Kurt could see, though, that Matt was getting more and more into this idea, so he let it slide. No surprise; this was a way Matt could repay his debts, keep a measure of independence, and gain a leg up in his chosen profession at the same time.

The actual surprise was just about to come.

"So suppose I do see a talent," Matt said. "What do I do then?"

"You get in touch with me." Sylvester paused in thought. "Though it might be useful if we have a go-between ourselves."

"How?" Greene asked. "More links means more chances for leaks or interceptions."

"Raising suspicions doesn't do me or Rutherford any good either," Sylvester countered. "As far as I'm concerned, my first priority is his safety. He's the one putting his neck on the chopping block." Kurt had actually ceased to become surprised by the actual human compassion Sylvester was displaying. But then, he'd learned long ago that it was useless to try to understand her psyche. This was just one more piece of the weird and morbidly fascinating jigsaw puzzle that was Sue Sylvester. "Don't forget, there are a few people still left who actually know me. The less direct contact he has with me, the better, especially since he has no reason to talk to me." She turned in her seat. "But Kurt..."

"Me?" Kurt squeaked.

"Old high school friend of his, fellow glee club member, someone working in the industry he wants to break in to..." She gave him a thoughtful look. "Yeah, it makes sense that they'd talk every once in a while."

"You want to bring Kurt into this?" Dave interrupted.

"He's already _in_ this, whether he likes it or not," Sylvester snapped, an odd echo of a point Kurt himself had made innumerable times. "This is me giving him a chance to help out without having to dive head first into the pool of filth that you and I do on a regular basis." She turned her attention back to Kurt. "He wouldn't be reporting to you every time," she continued. "Sometimes he'll be reconnecting with his old girlfriend here." She nodded towards Santana. "But the more options he has, the more natural it'll look to the outside. And if the two of you met up once in a while if you traveled for business or performances... Well, who'd think twice about it? Even better, if there's a reason to refer him to the Agency, they have another old friend it'd be perfectly natural to talk to." She regarded Kurt coolly. "How about it? I can't make you say yes, and I don't particularly want to. Just think about it."

Kurt didn't need to. "I'll do it." Sylvester nodded, as if she'd fully been expecting that response. Dave opened his mouth to say something, but he wisely shut it again. _Good man_. "Honestly, I want to help." And he wanted to have a front row seat to see if this whole arrangement would work at all. This would be the ultimate test of the Agency and Puck's unit — of their morals and ethics. If they respected Sylvester's wishes, if they truly honored what the talents she found wanted, he would feel a _lot_ better about Dave's and Puck's memberships, not to mention his own safety, and Matt's.

If they didn't... Well, at least he knew someone very formidable who'd help them weather the consequences.

"I accept," Matt said, without a moment's thought or hesitation either. "I really want my power to actually mean something. If it'll help me keep in touch with my... my friends, that's just a bonus."

"Well..." Agent Greene began with a note of helpless amusement in his voice, "it's not like we haven't had similar arrangements before, though this is the first time we'd be involving non-talent civilians."

"We'll help with cover stories and secure communications," Peña said. "Though I assume you'll want to look it all over before you start using it, Sue?"

"Of course. None of us got where we are today trusting each other, did we?"

"No, we didn't."

"I won't pressure Matt to refer anyone to the Agency," Dave said suddenly, causing all eyes to focus on him. The attention caused him to hesitate, but he pressed on regardless. "This whole thing will fall apart if I try. I'll argue for us, but I'll accept any decisions he and the talents make."

"Of course," Greene said, even as Kurt's distrustful instincts stirred once more. "I wouldn't expect anything less. In fact, as of right now, I officially approve your being the point of contact with Mr. Hummel, and by extension Mr. Rutherford. You'll keep us apprised of how they're doing, and how Ms. Sylvester is doing." He cast a significant glance in her direction, one that was completely ignored. "I hope you get along with your friends, because with any luck, you'll be keeping a close eye on them for a while to come."

To say that Kurt had mixed feelings was an understatement. On one hand, being required to report on friends would doubtlessly weigh on Dave, possibly even force him to make a choice between his friendships and the Agency. Was this assignment some kind of test of Dave's loyalty, or simply a pragmatic acknowledgment that he'd know best the personalities involved? The fact that there was no obvious answer was as disturbing now as when Dave was first recruited.

On the other hand, this also meant that there was an excuse — no, an imperative — for he and Dave to keep in touch. Sure, he wouldn't be completely in the loop, but there wouldn't be any more multi-year disappearances. He could see for himself the man Dave had become in the last five years, and even if there weren't any chance of anything more between them, he relished that opportunity, no matter how it'd come about.

"Then it's settled," Sylvester said abruptly, standing. "I'll be in touch. In the meantime, enjoy the rest of your reunion," she said to the gathered McKinley alumni. "This may be the last time you'll be able to feel normal." Warning issued (though Kurt hadn't felt "normal" since his junior year of high school), she left without another word of farewell.

"Wow," Matt said as soon as the door shut behind her. "I'd forgotten what she was like..."

"She's... an interesting woman," Peña said. "Now that we're done for the time being, I suggest you get back to bed, Mr. Rutherford; it's been a long day, for you especially. The doctor said you should have clearance to leave sometime in the next two days, depending on how you progress."

"Yeah." Without warning, he gave Kurt a tight hug. "Thanks again." He moved on to Santana, who returned the hug warmly. "Say hi to everyone at the reunion. Tell 'em I'll talk with them soon." Dave, of course, was next. "Though I'm sure I'll be talking to _you_ again sometime soon." Finally, Puck. "I owe you, man." They watched silently as he shuffled out of the room.

"As for the rest of you," Peña continued once he'd gone, "I suggest sleep. You've earned it. Although it's almost sunrise..."

"Sir?" Puck broke in. "Request permission to accompany my friends back home. And to attend the last day of the reunion."

"Permission granted," Peña said, grinning with amusement. "Though make sure you report back here bright and early tomorrow. You're going to be one of my point men on Ms. Sylvester's, ah, organization, so we have a lot of planning to do."

Puck's eyes widened. He apparently barely managed to suppress whatever emotions were threatening to intrude, for he was stone-faced and serious when he snapped to attention and saluted his commanding officer. "Thank you, sir!" Was that for the permission to attend the reunion, Kurt wondered idly, or the professional opportunity? Why not both?

"We'll also discuss this new arrangement later," Greene said to Dave. "But for now, enjoy the rest of your leave."

"Thanks."

"Don't worry, David," Greene said, his voice softening. "A big part of this job is using your own sound judgment without anyone looking over your shoulder. From what I know of your weekend here, I think you're doing an excellent job."

Dave brightened, which to Kurt seemed to brighten the whole room. "Thank you."

It was only after they'd left the general's office, when they were passing through the back door of the payday loan business, that the night began catching up with Kurt. He wasn't able to stifle a huge yawn as he climbed into the passenger seat of Dave's Fury.

"I'll follow you guys back to town," Puck said. "Wait a sec while I get my car."

As they waited, Dave was the first to break the silence. "So I guess we're working together. Kind of."

"Yeah."

"You sure you want to do this?"

"I had my chance to express doubts, Dave. But at least now I'll be doing _something_ useful with my knowledge."

"Yeah, but... are you still going to be able to live your life the way you want? Follow those dreams you've had since you were a kid?"

"If I weren't able to multitask, I'd be a poor sort of star." He turned to Dave and gave him a weary smile. "I'll be fine, Dave. Once again, I've come into this with eyes wide open. I'm actually looking forward to the cloak and dagger stuff."

"Yeah, well, it's not all fun and games. You know that.  I wish... I just wish everybody could've come out of this alive." Kurt supposed he should've been startled, considering everything Evan had done, threatened to do... But then, that's just the kind of person Dave was, wasn't it?  At least he hadn't expressed any misplaced feelings of responsibility for Evan's death... yet.  He'd have to watch for that. A heavy silence descended, broken when Puck's car came into view, and Dave started up the Fury. The caravan started the drive back into Lima. "I'm sorry you had to do that."

Kurt knew exactly what Dave meant. "I had to — not just for your sake, but for mine and Santana's. I'd do it again in a heartbeat." He absently rubbed Dave's shoulder, too tired to even consider what it could mean. "I'll deal with it. I promise."

"I want to help," Dave said. "Any way I can, whatever favors I can call in. I owe you so much, I want to do this for you, okay? So say yes, or I'll tell your dad and stepmom that you need intense parenting for the next year."

"Oh, God, please don't. I'll do whatever you say, I promise."

The two laughed — weakly, but they laughed. Warm sunlight was starting to peek over the distant horizon; Kurt yawned again. At least they had time for a _little_ sleep before the last day of the reunion...

"You know..." Dave began, "if Coach Sylvester can advance Matt's career, they probably could do the same for yours too. They might want to — at least give you more opportunities to travel and meet more people."

"They do that, they can go to hell," Kurt said wearily, still staring out the window at the slowly rising sun. "It's my career. I'll make it on my own, and so quickly they won't even have time to meddle."

"If anyone can do it, it's you," Dave said, the fondness peeking through as surely as the morning sun.

"Thanks." Kurt yawned once more. "You're a good friend, Dave," he said, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was the half-dreamy state he found himself in as the day's events and the lack of adrenaline finally took its toll. The rumble of the road underneath the tires was just _so_ soothing... "I'll always treasure you, even if we don't end up as lovers."

"Same here," Dave said.

"But I really look forward to at least trying. Because that means I'll get to know you again. And..." His eyes began drooping shut as his head leaned against the cold window glass. "... And I missed you, Dave. I missed you so much, and I..."

Darkness began to overtake his consciousness. The last things he heard and sensed was a large, rough hand gently caress the top of his head, and Dave's voice saying, "Thank you. For everything. For being you."

Then, Kurt Hummel slept.

* * *

"Everyone! Attention, please!" The chatter around the table took at least half a minute to cease to Rachel's satisfaction. "I hope everyone had a good time at this reunion, and hopefully, there will be more to come in the future."

"Here here!" Artie called out from the other end of the table, which took up almost the entire length of the Breadstix main dining room.

"As our weekend draws to a close, I hope we will all take this opportunity to renew our bonds with each other, and resolve to push ever forward towards our chosen dreams."

Kurt wondered how much time Rachel had spent writing her speech. She'd certainly spent enough time haranguing him, Dave, and Santana for missing so much of the day's activities by sleeping in. "You can sleep later!" was her mantra, both that morning and for life in general. She was, however, surprised and pleased at Puck's sudden appearance. "Noah! Oh my God! How are you? Why didn't you tell me you were coming? Oh, well, at least you're here, even if it's only for the last day! You're not absent without leave, are you? No? Good, I'd hate to be the reason you're put in the brig or what have you. Come! Sit! Talk! The more the merrier, I always say!"

Kurt still yawned through much of the surprisingly contentious karaoke contest, but was wide awake for the tribute to Finn. This dinner was the "closing ceremony," as Rachel put it, the long table buzzing with talk and laughter. Kurt was distinctly reminded of why he had any fondness for his high school days, why he loved these people to begin with.

He was also reminded of the simpler life he left behind, quite by chance, one autumn afternoon. But then, what was the transition to adulthood but leaving behind the simple for the complexities of the wider world?

"I also want to thank everyone for their attendance," Rachel said. "Just as with our performances, you have all contributed to making this reunion a smashing success — though some more than others." She cast a few brief, scattered glares around the table; Kurt had no doubt where they were being directed. "So I'd like to close our reunion with a special toast: everyone will contribute to it!" She raised her glass; everyone else followed suit. "I, of course will start: to New Directions. Long may it live!"

Most of the others' toasts were normal, if sentimental. But a few obvious ones stood out.

Dave said, "To reaching for the stars. May hope for the future always be our guide."

Santana said, "To new directions for New Directions. May we all find the purpose we're looking for." Huh, maybe this whole experience had roused the poetic nature in his friends. Good; they could use with a little more sophistication.

Puck said, "To working with some of the most talented friends a guy could ever want." He grinned, white and toothy.

Kurt ended up being the last. He considered for a moment, then raised his glass. "To love — for friends and for family. May love be in the cards for everyone."

There were appreciative murmurs as everyone clinked glasses. Dave in particular smiled, private and warm, as his glass rang off Kurt's. "To love," he said softly. Kurt nodded in reply.

Kurt had no idea what the future held — for himself, for Dave, for Matt, for Santana, for anyone, really. But as he sat at that table, filled with warm food and drink, surrounded by his oldest and dearest friends, he couldn't help but think of Dave's toast.

He couldn't help but feel hope.

* * *

 **Epilogue  
Five months later**  
**Hempstead, New York**

"Your destination is on the left," the GPS said. "Four eight one six Garden Court Drive."

Kurt glanced out the window at the small but well kept suburban home. "We're here."

Dave turned off the car. "I'll let you do the talking to start," he said. "He'll probably feel more comfortable with you."

"Got it." Neither made a move to get out. "We are going to do this, right?"

"Yeah."

"So why aren't you?"

"Why aren't _you_?"

"Because I'm waiting for you. This is your show, Mr. Field Counselor. So answer the question."

"Well... honestly, it's because I'm freaking out a little. This is my first actual field counseling assignment, and it's a doozy. So excuse me if I have a little performance anxiety."

Kurt chuckled. "You'll be fine, Dave." He reached over and took Dave's hand, squeezing tightly. It wasn't a gesture that _meant_ anything, really, at least not that way; he would have done it whatever the state of his and Dave's relationship. But the fact remained that they had started "dating" in the past two months, which by necessity added extra dimension to such gestures. Of course, one could hear the quotation marks any time either of them referred to it as "dating"; it was less romantic dating as most would think of it and more of hitting a reset button on their friendship. The two of them had agreed to ease into things, start by reestablishing the bond that they had already formed back in high school. So they did together what they would have done under more mundane circumstances: meals, bowling, catching shows, whether Kurt was in them or not. It was slow to start, with Dave training and helping establish the new talent network that included Sue Sylvester's group, but it began rolling in earnest once he reestablished residency in New York, ostensibly for graduate studies in social work.

So, given that they were interacting as if they were the friends they'd always been, why did they insist on referring to it as "dating," even with the verbal quotation marks? For Kurt (and he got the sense from conversation that Dave was in a similar frame of mind), it was because there was this... emotional undercurrent to their activities, no matter how slowly they swore they were taking things. The other purpose of these outings — to feel each other out for a possible future relationship — was unspoken but omnipresent, the proverbial elephant in the room. That knowledge couldn't help but taint (if "taint" was indeed the best word to use) the entire proceeding.

It didn't "help" that the more they reconnected, the more they rebuilt their old friendship without all the baggage and dependency and worry, the more Kurt came to realize how razor thin the edge was between what he did feel for Dave and what he _could_ feel for Dave.

Take now, for instance. Dave was finally on his way to his chosen destiny, to helping talents find their way, and Kurt could sense the eagerness mixed in with his nerves. Without the clouds of self-doubt and self-hate that once hung over him, Dave could see better than ever before — and others could see him better too.

In the here and now, Dave returned the squeeze on Kurt's hand gratefully. "Thanks." He sucked in a deep breath, so deep that Kurt could see his chest puff out under his shirt. "Okay. I'm ready." He got out, very quickly, as if afraid he'd change his mind. Kurt knew better.

He got out of the car and joined Dave as he went up the front walk. On the porch, Kurt was the one who knocked on the door. It took only a few seconds for them to hear footsteps from inside, and the door to open.

The man who opened the door was a freelance photographer Kurt had collaborated with often at Vogue — mid-thirties, balding, with a brilliant eye for personality. Although Kurt admired Mark Taylor's work, he never thought much about the man outside of the office — until the day Matt Rutherford came to visit New York. It was just a week and a half previous when Kurt took Matt on a tour of the Vogue offices, a tour that included a Mark Taylor photo shoot. Taylor too had brought along a special guest to meet the subject of the shoot, a pop diva of great standing.

That was when Matt _saw_.

"Thanks for coming, Mr. Hummel," Taylor said wearily. Kurt mentally groaned; hearing this man older than him call him "Mr. Hummel" always produced all sorts of conflicting emotions.

Kurt, as he was wont to do with serious topics, went straight to business. "This is the friend I was telling you about, Mark. Dave Karofsky, Mark Taylor."

"Hi." Dave extended a hand, which was firmly shaken.

"Come in." The three men went into a living room, brightly lit by a bay window. Kurt's eyes couldn't help but catch the photo on the coffee table — of man, child, late wife... Besides his preexisting acquaintance, this connection to his own life was one reason this case struck a chord with Kurt, one reason he wanted to see it through to the very end. Taylor sat in an easy chair; Kurt and Dave took the couch. "So this is the man from that... organization?"

It hadn't taken much to convince Mark Taylor to listen; the man was at the end of his rope, becoming increasingly desperate with worry, which made Kurt glad that they had gotten to him first. It similarly hadn't taken a lot of convincing for Sue Sylvester to turn this case over to the Agency — some, but not a lot.

Dave nodded. "I am, Mr. Taylor. I really think we can be of help. But this can't be just your decision."

"I know, but..." Taylor rubbed a hand over his face. "She's just thirteen, for God's sake... How can she make this kind of choice so young? This is the rest of her _life_ we're talking about here."

"That's why you're such a big part of it to begin with," Dave said with a nod. "We... I think you do have her best interest at heart..."

"Of course I do!" Taylor said, a flash of anger coming over him. "I am her _father_!"

"And not everyone has loving, supportive parents like you — parents who can deal with this new aspect of their child's life."

Taylor's face collapsed. "I know, but... she's still my little girl..." He had to take several calming breaths before he could continue. "I looked over those files Mr. Hummel gave me. It all... looks good. God, I can't believe I'm treating this like I'm shopping for a private school..."

"But in a way, that is what you're doing." Dave was getting into the groove; Kurt could sense that. So he quietly sat back and listened. "It's a lot more serious, but you're still looking out for her best interests. You're still deciding how she'll be educated. It's just that she'll be learning about more than math and science." Dave leaned forward slightly towards the worried father. "And I'll be showing everything Kurt showed you to her. She'll get a full sense of what choices she has, just like you. Then you'll both be able to make this decision. Together."

There was another moment of silence. Then Taylor's eyes found Kurt's. "You're the reason I'm even considering any of this to begin with," he said. "That and I'm desperate." Kurt couldn't help but think of Sue's earlier condemnation of the Agency... But then, they hardly could've intervened earlier in this instance. Still, the discomfort remained. "But we've worked together for years now, and I... I think I trust you."

All the implications, all the unsaid warnings, were plain. Kurt nodded stiffly. "Thank you. I really do think you're making the right decision."

"I hope so." He sighed. "I'll get her—"

Dave rose. "Actually, Mr. Taylor, can I introduce myself? You're welcome to come with me if you like—"

"I... I think I'll stay here." _Poor man_ , Kurt thought, _he's emotionally wrung out_. For not the first time, Kurt kicked himself for not seeing the clear signs of stress when he was at Vogue, especially the last few months. At least, he hoped he didn't see it; he hated to think he saw, but merely ignored. "She's upstairs. Her room's first door on the left. I think she's still—" Taylor swallowed. "Still like _that_ right now."

"Dave?" Kurt asked quietly. "Can I watch? I promise I'll stay out of the way."

Dave considered for a moment, then nodded. "Okay." The two men started towards the staircase.

"Mr. Karofsky?"

Dave stopped with his foot on the first stair. "Yes?"

"If... If she does... _go_ , will I be... Will I be able to remember?"

Another silence. "I can't make any promises, Mr. Taylor. It's not common. But we can try."

Taylor nodded. "Thank you."

The two went up a short flight of stairs. The first door on the left had a plaque hanging on it, with a name spelled in large wooden letters: MIRANDA. Kurt took up a position near the top of the stairs, out of the way, out of sight behind the burly Dave. Dave nodded to no one in particular, took a deep, steeling breath, then knocked.

"Daddy?" a voice called out from within.

"No, I'm... a friend of your father's. Can I come in?" There was no answer. "Miranda, my name is Dave. I know about your... your gift." There was a gasp from inside. "I won't hurt you. I'd like to talk with you about what you can do. Your dad said it was okay. May I?"

There was again no answer, not for a long minute. Finally: "O-okay." Dave had warned Kurt that making initial contact, establishing that bond of trust, could take a long time. Perhaps Miranda was just as desperate as her father.

Or maybe, just maybe, she could sense everything... everything _good_ about Dave that Kurt already knew, had always known.

Dave pushed open the door. Kurt could just see inside: it was an average young girl's room, festooned with posters of popular music acts, with a fluffy-looking bed, shelves of books and stuffed animals, and half-open closet in which a dizzying variety of clothes was crammed. It looked otherwise empty.

"Hi," Dave said gently, kneeling down to about what eye level for a thirteen year old would be.

"Wh-who are you?" the uncertain voice said.

"I'm a counselor. I work with a special... group of people like you."

"Like... me?"

"Yeah, people with powers like yours. And... I have powers too." He gestured, and a book rose from the desk and floated slowly across the room. Once again, that gasp. "I can move things with my mind." The book gently lowered itself to the floor. "I know how scared you are. I used to be scared just like you. But the people I work with, they taught me how to control my powers. I think we can help you too."

There was a pause. "Y-you do?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Another pause. Then, the voice became choked with tears. "I can't... Sometimes I don't know when it's going to happen. And sometimes I have trouble making it stop... I want to make it stop right now, but it won't..."

"That's okay. But I'd like you to come downstairs so you, me, and your dad can talk about the people I work for..."

"I don't want to. Not while I'm still... like this."

"It's okay. We can go as slow as you want."

"Could you help me?"

Dave hesitated. "Um... That's not exactly what I'm trained to do. Every power is different. I can try to suggest something if you want..."

"Yes!" came the immediate reply. "Please, anything! I don't even care if it doesn't work, I just need to do _something_."

"Okay." Dave took another deep breath. "Close your eyes. Try to think about your power, how it makes you feel, how it's making you feel right now." He paused. "Got it?"

"Yeah..."

"Now, try to think about how you feel when your power isn't active. Try to turn those memories into reality. Try to feel yourself... shifting from how you feel now to how you remember usually feeling."

"I..."

"It's okay. Take your time. Just... remember."

Kurt had seen many unbelievable things with his own eyes; this was just one more to add to the list. The first sign he saw was a blur, in the middle of the room. The blur slowly sharpened, turning into the ghostly image of a young girl with shoulder length blonde hair, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, her eyes closed and small hands clenched. The specter gained color, gained substance, turning more solid, more real, until a plainly visible girl stood where he could only see empty air moments before.

Her eyes snapped open, and she looked down at herself. "Ohmigod!" she cried. "I did it!" She jumped up and down, squealing. "I did it!"

"Yeah," Dave said, the smile plain in his voice. "You did it."

As it turned out, Kurt exactly echoed Dave's next words in his own whisper.

"I'm so proud of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, what a ride.
> 
> I've really enjoyed writing for this universe. It's over for now, but I may add more to it if I get more ideas (or suggestions for such, hint hint). For now, though, my main ambition is to finally finish "Worlds Colliding" (a fic currently on ff dot net only) before moving on to other projects.
> 
> To everyone who's left kind words throughout this trilogy, on whatever medium I've posted it especially those of you who've done so regularly — and you know who you are — all I have to say is, thank you. I'm very grateful for your readership, each and every one of you!


End file.
